


Constructs, Social and Otherwise

by ClariseTG, LonelyRollingStar



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: HeartGold & SoulSilver | Pokemon HeartGold & SoulSilver Versions
Genre: Body Horror, Brain Damage, Brainwashing, Coma, Disability, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Multi, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Surgery, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 65,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24599851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClariseTG/pseuds/ClariseTG, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyRollingStar/pseuds/LonelyRollingStar
Summary: With the advent of a string of high-level murders beginning with Eusine, Johto’s administration is thrown into chaos. Can the gym leaders stop the murders, or will they fall victim themselves?
Relationships: Anzu | Janine/Hayato | Falkner, Denzi | Volkner/Mikan | Jasmine, Denzi | Volkner/Ouba | Flint, Erika/Natsume | Sabrina, Matsuba | Morty/Minaki | Eusine
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Morty's Sad Boi Hours

Medium Edith was second in command to Morty at the Ecruteak Gym— the ghost-type Gym Leader had put her in command while he was gone. She was to make sure no one came to bother him today.

Her day was going well, mostly. Only one challenger had shown up, and the gym was typically closed on Tuesdays.

However, around noon Edith noticed someone very, very important and even more obnoxious.

“Champion Lyra?” Edith watched the pig-tailed girl jog up to her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see Morty,” Lyra tried to peek into the gym. “Is the gym open right now, or...?”

“We’re closed on Tuesdays.”

“Right. So he’s on the Bellchime Trail, hanging out with Eu—” Seeing Edith’s look, Lyra remembered the news. “Oh. Where is he right now? This is important.”

The medium glanced at the floor nervously. “He’s not at the gym...”

“You already told me that.” Lyra dug out her third Pokégear of the month and flipped it open on an already-loose hinge. “I’m going to call him.”

Panic alighted on Edith’s face. “You really shouldn’t see him right now.”

“What’s going on?” Lyra paused for a moment in keying in Morty’s number. 

Edith tried to come up with a cover story, but she already knew Lyra wouldn’t buy it. “He’s meditating, and right now you can’t disturb him.”

Lyra finished typing in Morty’s number on loose keys. “Morty’s always meditating.”

“This is different.”

“Does this have something to do with Eusine?” Before Edith could respond, Lyra pressed call and brought her Pokégear up to her ear. An uncomfortably long time passed with the phone ringing out before Lyra was greeted with the familiar, robotic voice of the voicemail prompt. Lyra ended the call, looked confused, then tried again. Edith stood in silence.

Again, no reply. “Morty isn’t picking up. Officially an idiot.”

Edith was quiet.

“I’m going looking for him.” Lyra haphazardly tossed her Pokégear into her bag and turned to leave. “Thanks, Edith.”

The medium looked more worried than not at this point.

Lyra headed straight past Bellchime Trail to the wilderness beyond. There was this secluded spot where Morty would go sometimes, according to Whitney.

Considering what old pink-hair said, Morty was probably there right now— after what he saw happen to Eusine, he’d definitely be looking for some solitude.

He wouldn’t be alone all day today, though. She’d already let all the other people involved in this case know about this development by phone, but Morty... She knew that it was personal to him.

Where was he? Lyra started to have her doubts that he was even here. She almost considered calling out, but that would probably agitate him. If he was doing something like this, he was probably off his “coffee.” She was starting to get miffed, herself.

She pulled out her Pokégear again, dialing in Morty’s number and pressing call. A ringing noise echoed from far to her right and in front. The other phone! She moved towards it, weaving through thick trees and plants.

She nearly stepped on him, not expecting to find him sprawled out on the ground, unconscious.

He was asleep? Out here?

She crouched down next to him. He didn’t have anything on him except for his handbag.

When you woke people up, you were supposed to be gentle, right? Start by saying their name, then shake them?

“Morty. Morty!” Lyra waved her hand above Morty’s face. “How asleep are you? Morty!”

At the sound of yelling, one of Morty’s Haunter appeared behind Lyra. “Haunter?”

Lyra jumped aside, thoroughly haunted for a moment. “Oh, it’s just you. What are you doing out of your ball when Morty’s...” Lyra trailed off and then shrugged.

Haunter expressed concern.

“What do you mean?” Lyra glanced between Haunter and Morty. “Should I wake him up?”

Haunter said something akin to “yes,” so Lyra put her hands on Morty’s shoulders to start violently shaking him.

She scrunched her nose. “...He has a fever?”

Haunter worried aloud.

She violently shook him.

Morty’s eyes opened slightly, and he winced and squinted without looking anywhere in particular.

“You okay?” Lyra asked, lifting his shoulders and head off the ground a little.

Morty donned a solaced look and murmured, “Eu...sine...?”

Lyra unceremoniously dropped Morty on the ground, causing him to stiffen and raise a weak hand to the back of his head. She stood up. “O-kay, I see why Edith said I shouldn’t come see you, now.”

Haunter looked mortified.

Lyra cast a look at Haunter. “What? What do you want me to do? I don’t know how to help.”

Haunter swooped down to nudge Morty awake, but he couldn’t get him any further than a half-conscious delirium. “Haunter!”

Lyra sighed heavily. “You’re right that I can’t just leave him here, now that I know for sure he’s like this... If he’s hallucinating, maybe I should take him to the hospital?”

Haunter seemed pleased with this idea.

“Wait— Ugh.” Lyra pressed a hand against her face. “I can’t do that, Haunter. This is going to have to be another one of those secrets, isn’t it?“

Haunter looked confused.

“What do you think the city is going to think when news comes out that their gym leader passed out in the woods near Bellchime Trail? If he’s just sick, I guess he might get away with it, but if it’s—” Lyra knelt down again, picking up Morty’s bag and rifling through it. “Mind if I look through this?”

Haunter commented in its language that she asked that after the fact.

“Ah.” Lyra removed a mostly-empty vial from Morty’s bag. “Looks like he took some Pokémon’s venom, so either failed suicide or drugs. PR nightmare either way.”

Lyra put the vial back. “Morty’s going to make us all look terrible if anyone finds out about this. You seem like you’d be fine at keeping secrets. Haunter, I’ll get him awake again, but you and Edith need to keep an eye on him later.” She dug through her own bag. “Do I have any pecha berries...?”

She found one slightly smushed pecha berry in her bag. She handed it to Haunter. “Figure something out while I’m gone. I’m getting more pecha berries.”

Lyra got up and left, leaving the crime scene unattended except for Haunter.

She searched Ecruteak for a store that sold the berries she was looking for, and eventually found a place that sold medicinal berry soup. She was given a knowing look at the store when she ordered a poison cure, to go, and didn’t explain why— she assumed the storekeeper actually thought she was going to help a sick Pokémon of some kind.

Lyra had long stopped caring.

It was late afternoon by the time she got back to Unconscious Morty in the bushes with the supplies she needed.

It looked like Gengar had also been freed from its pokéball while she was gone, and the two ghost Pokémon had propped Morty up against the nearest tree.

“Hey. I brought pecha soup and other antidotes that might work...” Lyra set down her bag on a leafier bit of ground. “He seem brain-damaged yet?”

Morty looked at Lyra through half-open eyes. “...No.”

“You’re awake, that’s good— You can drink this.” Lyra pulled the canteen of pecha soup out of her bag. “Unless you’re just going to call me Eusine again.”

“I’d rather have... Eusine here than you,” Morty’s voice sounded strained, as if it was hard for him to breathe.

“Well, guess who’s still alive.” Lyra decided to be a little considerate and unscrew the cap of the soup canteen before practically dropping it on Morty’s lap. “Drink that before you say anything else. This is my one act of kindness for the week.”

Morty was slow to down the soup, possibly because his hands and arms were visibly shaking while he did so.

Lyra got bored quickly, pulling out her somehow-even-more-damaged-than-before Pokégear and calling the dial number of the Ecruteak Gym. When a generic gym trainer picked up, she asked, “Can I talk to the lead gym trainer? Not Morty, his second-in-command.”

It was a minute or so before Edith got on the phone. “Hello?”

“Edith. I found Morty. He’d been poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Edith paused. “By who?”

“Evidence suggests himself, but I’ll ask.”

“Okay.” Edith sounded like she wasn’t surprised Morty had apparently poisoned himself.

“Call you back.”

Morty had finished about half of the soup.

Lyra closed her Pokégear. “It’s been, like, 10 whole minutes. You should be further into that.”

Morty put the canteen down next to him, his arms nearly allowing a free fall of the object with their lack of capacity to hold it up. “Why are you here?”

“I’m going first. Why are you out here?” Lyra sized up Morty’s frail frame. “Did I just interrupt a suicide attempt?”

Morty stammered a little, surprised by this accusation. “No! Why would I...”

“So you drugged yourself with poison? How did you think it was going to go?”

“...I—”

“Don’t answer that.” Lyra grumbled. “I know you’re upset about Eusine, and you blame yourself, but there’s ways to feel miserable without making it so public. I really recommend punching yourself in the head— it’s more entertaining for me. If anyone found out you did this, the whole league would look untrustworthy.”

From the look on his face, Lyra could tell he understood.

“Next time, do it on a Monday night instead.“

Morty’s Haunter gave Lyra an indignant look.

Lyra ignored it. “Any comments or concerns before I move on to why I’m actually here?”

Morty settled for an exhausted glare.

“Morty, I hear you’ve tried to contact Eusine through the... Whatever it is you spooky people use.”

“...His spirit... Never responded.”

“It didn’t respond, or you never saw it?” Lyra put a finger to her lip. “I remember what you said earlier. I looked into it, since you boys _would_ have unfinished business to ghost around doing.”

Morty looked a little confused.

“Eusine’s death was part of something bigger.” When Lyra saw the feeble shock that laced Morty’s expression, Lyra continued, “...I think. I’m not sure, actually.”

“Bigger...?”

“Nothing’s adding up about this whole thing, and since we don’t know where his body went it’s safe to say anything’s possible. Anyway, with what we know, I’m getting the feeling that this wasn’t an isolated incident.”

Morty looked mortified.

“I know,” Lyra replied in a voice laced with sarcasm, “I hate to say it, Morty, but you were right. Also, stop thinking this whole mess is your fault. The ‘if only I were faster’ attitude does nothing for you.”

Morty let his head fall back against the tree. “Ugh...”

Lyra glanced around. “You know what? I’m gonna say something I haven’t before. I feel bad for you. Ready for my second act of kindness this week?”

“Human decency...? This is new,” Morty croaked.

Lyra put her hands on her hips. “Where are you staying, before I lose all of my goodwill?”

Morty wheezed out an address.

“Can you pretend to be fine for awhile to save face?” Lyra offered a hand to Morty.

Morty took it, staggering after being sharply pulled to his feet. “Sure.”

“Recall all your Pokémon so that I can carry your stuff.”

Morty did so, a little begrudging to follow any instruction of Lyra’s.

Lyra tossed a pokéball into the air and in a flash of light a Pidgeot appeared. “Hey, Flappy Bird! Can you fly us to Morty’s place?”

The bird did not immediately comply.

“I know it’s tiring carrying two people,” Lyra admitted, “but what if I bribe you with food?”

That seemed to change its attitude.

Pidgeot happily carried the two of them to Morty’s address of residence, where Lyra gave Morty a hand in navigating to the couch, where he almost immediately passed out.

Lyra stepped out and surveyed the horizon. “Well, Flappy, it looks like sunset’s in an hour. Want to go get lunch? I’m starving.”

Flappy agreed with this food-bound action.

She never called Edith back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by ClariseTG.


	2. Emoting Poorly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clair wonders whether losing herself in work is an acceptable alternative to losing herself outside of it.

Clair couldn’t remember much of her childhood, but she could remember where she’d gotten her first pair of boots.

She and Lance were both young, then, mere children who hadn’t even gotten tamed their first dragons yet, and he was so much taller than her even then, standing almost a full head above her with the posture to match, while she was short and slumped and awkward. They’d managed to convince their parents to let them go shopping one day, and they hadn’t assented because they’d only just moved to Blackthorn at first and didn’t bring much money to begin with. But then Lance had pleaded with them and they’d caved in an instant, because Lance was the kind of person who had the poise and confidence to make anyone do anything for him.

Her cousin’s fashion sense was atrocious, she learned, picking out brightly colored hats with feathers in them and suits in eye-searing shades of brilliant fuchsia, and an argument between the two of them about his horrible taste in bright red trousers nearly ruined the whole trip, but they persevered despite his tackiness. They were almost out of the ritzy retail store packed inside an even ritzier mall when she’d seen them, deep in the designer shoes section, bright and blue and tall, so tall. She knew she had to try them on as soon as she laid eyes on them.

And though Lance made fun of her for her taste for the rest of the week, she did odd jobs and raised enough money so she could buy them anyways, because with them on she went up to his eyes and it made her look poised and confident and mature and all those things that Lance was that she wasn’t, that she thought she’d never be.

She’d grown since then, but she still wore high-heeled boots anyways, because Lance was a legend now and if she wanted to be so much as mentioned in the same breath as him she’d need every advantage she could get.

\--

“Again.”

Her Aerodactyl, perched on her shoulder, took off at her signal, darting through the caves like a bullet. He hugged the cave wall as he sped toward the training dummy near the back of the clearing, tentatively brushing his left wing against old and unpreserved paintings as he approached, then abruptly dug it into it as he followed the wall’s curve, chunks of stone sliding down behind him, trapping the dummy in place. As he began to approach his starting point, he abruptly dislodged himself from the wall and dove down, electricity surging in his mouth, before he met the dummy and released the energy stored there in a single bite. Thunder pierced the quiet in the cave like a sword through armor, and masked the sound of his wings as he returned to Clair, landing on her shoulder with all the grace of a trained dancer. Before long, silence reigned again, the sole sound in the cavern that of the decapitated head of the dummy, rolling to a stop mere inches away from the trainer’s feet.

Not good enough. “Again,” she said, and the living fossil shot off to the left and proceeded to repeat the routine.

\--

To the untrained eye, it might look like she was pushing too hard. Johto’s Gym Circuit was hardly that of its neighbors, after all, and as the eighth gym leader in a region that had bred almost a fourth as many champions as the sister it shared a league with she could count the number of challengers she received a month on one hand. It wasn’t like she had a gym team to raise, either. Her oldest Dragonair was getting older, yes, but she was still easily gym-caliber, and she’d been running the institution for several years now. Really, from an outside perspective, there was no reason to keep up this strenuous pace of training.

Such an outside perspective would have to be hopelessly uninformed, though. Lance’s retirement, and the appointing of a mere child to the position of Indigo League Champion, had been tabloid fodder for quite some time, now. With him out of the business, she was all her clan had left. She’d been an embarrassment for so long, whether she admitted it or not, and now her family’s livelihood, their very reputation, rested on how well she’d acquit herself. She was the standard-bearer for dragon-type trainers for the foreseeable future. The luxury of making mistakes, of wasting her time on foolish folly, was not one she could afford.

She had to prove herself her cousin’s equal, no matter what. So she trained, in the hopes that one day, she’d be able to do so.

(Maybe, if she was lucky, she could prove that to herself, too.)

\--

Wake up at four. Eat a decently satisfactory breakfast. At five, jog to the Dragon’s Den. Stay there for four hours, training her most prized pokemon both in turn and in tandem. Don a different set of clothing to avoid the paparazzi, and return to Blackthorn. At twelve, eat a satisfactory lunch. Return to the Dragon’s Den, and train for another six hours. Fly back to Blackthorn, her legs shot from jogging and her voice hoarse from barking out commands. Eat a satisfactory dinner. Spar in the Fighting Dojo for two hours, until eleven. Sleep. Repeat.

Clair’s schedule when it came to her training was perhaps a little too much, but given the weight she had to carry, that meant it was just barely enough. Outside of the trip to the Fighting Dojo, her one chance for social interaction, she kept herself away from people during her routine. They’d only serve as distractions, and that was something she simply couldn’t allow herself to have. In time, perhaps, she’d tame her thoughts as well, and then she’d be completely free of anything that could mess with her focus, able to act at peak performance in all situations and at all times.

Though, if she was being honest with herself, she doubted that’d ever be so much as allowed to happen as long as she held a League position.

Case in point: the purple-haired child in a discount scout’s uniform who’d deigned to set up camp outside the Den at five in the morning on what should’ve been a Saturday filled with rigorous training.

“Oh, there you are!” He said, in a squeaky, high voice, because evidently the infant who stood before her had yet to experience the humiliation of puberty. “Jeez, I was wondering when you were going to show up. I’ve been out here for ages, and it’s gotten so late…”

“Excuse me, who were you again?” Clair was decidedly not in the mood for this… whatever this was. She had training to do, after all. Having conversations with small, ignorant children with laughably ineffective bug-catching nets the likes of which she’d crushed back when she was a mere amateur were hard to define, but she was pretty certain that whatever they qualified as they didn’t qualify as training.

“Ah…” Oh, look. Shock. Puzzlement. Confusion over the way the conversation was going to go. A stirring tableau of human emotion, the likes of which would doubtless warm her cold, frozen heart. Next. “I’m… I’m Bugsy. You know, the Azalea City leader? You… are Clair, right?”

Oh. Oh! Now she remembered him. He’d attended some of the same meetings she had, maybe. It was hard to tell, because he’d stolen his style from the throngs of idolizing bug-obsessed children that she couldn’t remember anyone having any love for, but she could probably picture him in her mind’s eye, if given an hour or two to think. “That’s correct. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have training to do, and I’ll appreciate it if I don’t have any distractions around while I do so.”

“W-wait! Hold on!” She’d already begun walking off after what should have been her closing statement, but at this she turned and affixed her fellow gym leader her most withering glare from over her shoulder. “I-it’s… It’s about Morty.”

Ah. Him. This was going to be a conversation she’d have to have, wasn’t it? “What about him?” She inquired, with a deep sigh. Best to get this over with, she supposed.

“He’s… Well, he’s not doing so hot.” The boy looked away as he spoke.

“Understatement of the century. Now, tell me, why do I have to stick around for this conversation?”

“Edith called,” the boy said, clearly not cowed by her threat of leaving, “And she said that the champion went to look for him, found him in a bad way, and hasn’t called her back since.”

“Who’s Edith?” She responded, trying desperately to recover from the critical hit her self-esteem had taken, but she thought better of it. “No, better question — why is this even an issue? The ‘champion’ is still a child. She’ll forget to answer calls sometimes. It happens.”

“Well, uh, she was worried about him?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is that he’s a fellow gym leader, she seemed resigned when she made the call, and that I had to tell everyone I could. Figured I’d start with you, since, y’know, you’re the hardest to track down.”

“For good reason,” she mumbled, and with that threat to her image as a self-isolating loner dealt with she deemed it worthwhile to dissect the other parts of the boy’s response. “This sounds quite interesting and all, but if this Edith seemed used to it by now, chances are she’s already got the situation well in hand. Besides, our little golden child’s dealing with him as well. Odds are he’ll be fine in a week.”

“He’s not going to be fine.” The boy’s voice fell to a whisper now, as if he were saying words that shouldn’t be said. “He tried to commit suicide, Clair. Poisoned himself.” She froze in place as he spoke. “In all honesty, I-I don’t know what to do. I don’t think any of us do. So please, Clair. He’s my friend, and he’s yours too. I don’t want to lose him.”

And for a brief moment, staring down at those glassy eyes, Clair thought of what little she could remember from her childhood, how she was awkward and short and couldn’t see all that well and how she felt alone, sometimes, and like an embarrassment at others.

And then, just as quickly as the thought came to mind, she shelved it, because if there was one thing she wanted nothing more than to relive it was that.

“Maybe he won’t be,” she said, voice softer than she ever let it be normally, “But it’s as you said. I don’t know what to do. Any intervention I could make would just make things worse. So please, just let me train, and let me forget.”

She was almost inside the cavern by the time she heard his reply softly echo off the walls. “No.”

“What?”

“I won’t let you. I’m sorry, but I won’t, I can’t, just let you leave him to die.” He seemed… angry, almost. At her. “Don’t you care about him? I know I do, but do you?”

“Yes,” she said, unsure of whether it was a lie or not.

“Then we’re helping him. I don’t care what you say, what excuses you make — you’re coming with me, alright? Besides,” he began, and oh, this was going to hurt, “You’re not doing so well, either.”

“I assure you, I am perfectly capable-“

“Clair, don’t lie to me,” he said, and for a moment she was reminded of Lance in the way he almost commanded her to stop. “I know you’ve been in a bad way ever since Lance retired. You’ve skipped, what, three meetings, now? I don’t think anyone’s heard you speak in, like, two weeks. You’re joining me. It might do you some good.”

And though she couldn’t properly understand what she did next, why she caved to his demands and joined him on a mad quest to a city half a region away, Clair guessed that it was probably because he was right, and she hated it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by LonelyRollingStar.


	3. Hung Over

Morty opened his eyes to the pitch-black interior of his house. His whole body was sore for some reason or another, and it was sort of difficult to tell which way was up.

He sat up, feeling dizzy from the change of angle. “Ugh...” He glanced around. Was he actually home? He couldn’t see anything.

His heart felt like it was pounding in his head. It was pounding really fast, too. Morty stopped trying to move for a few moments, just trying to breathe. It was hard to breathe. He felt nauseous. It was hard not to throw up.

Maybe he did need to throw up.

He stumbled into the bathroom by sheer muscle memory and retched into the toilet.

A few minutes later, he felt considerably better, but still awful. He washed his face with cold water to wake himself up properly. His vision was returning.

What time was it?

He wandered over to the nearest clock, reading the time as nearly three in the morning.

Ugh... He was up so early, even Pryce, Chuck and Clair were unlikely to be awake right now. Well, Pryce might be up, but Morty was pretty sure that guy was nocturnal.

Morty glanced longingly at his bedroom. He really wanted to go back to sleep... He had the feeling, though, that if he did that now, he might not wake up. He’d heard too many stories of Kalosian celebrities drinking one too many and dying in their own vomit.

Was that why he felt so awful? Yesterday was a haze.

Time for “coffee.” Morty tried his best but his shaking hands spilled a little bit of milk on the counter. He poured in the grape Monster and took a swig.

The liquid riled up his nausea and he had to cross the house and vomit into the toilet again.

No “coffee” today.

Morty wiped up the milk spill.

He had to pass the time somehow, didn’t he? He had to be at the gym at seven o’clock sharp, but that was a little under four hours from now. He wanted to call out Haunter or Gengar for some company, but the Pokémon were probably happily sleeping. They didn’t deserve to be woken up at an ungodly hour.

Morty glanced down at his clothing. He was wearing his day clothes, and they looked like they were covered in dust and dirt. They smelled bad, too.

Morty took this as an opportunity to shower and change into fresh clothes— he faced a closet of four or five distinct outfits he found at the local Staraptor&Co, as well as enough identical black long-sleeves, purple scarves and white trousers to last him a week. He changed into his usual gym wear, and checked the time again. Nearly four. He might go on a walk to work it— whatever this was— out of his system.

He rifled through his bag, finding much of his stuff displaced. He pulled out his Pokégear, checking his notifications. It never hurt to find out who’d called him.

There were the usual 5 or so spam calls and wrong numbers, as well as... 4 calls from Lyra? There were quite a few more calls from Edith.

She must be worried, because...

Morty remembered what happened the day before. Morty pulled the near-empty vial of poison Karen had given him out of his bag. Oh. _oh_.

Morty hot-dialed Edith, and the phone barely rang twice before she picked up. “E-Edith.”

Edith sounded relieved and angry at the same time. “Oh, you’re okay! What in the four fair regions were you doing yesterday? Poisoning yourself? You could have been killed!”

Morty was planning for her to be upset he’d gone missing. He hadn’t planned for her to know why. “I... You knew I poisoned myself?”

“Lyra came looking for you. She said she found you out of it on your own poison! She said she’d ask why...“

“I’m assuming you wanted to tell me not to try this again?” Morty sighed. “Lyra already chewed me out, and if this morning has been any indication, an encore isn’t coming anytime soon.”

“Well, that after I ask why you did it. I told Bugsy—“

“You told _who_?”

“I told Bugsy that you poisoned himself and he said he was worried it might be suicide. I couldn’t get ahold of Lyra. I didn’t know who else would help— Lyra made it seem like this was serious.”

“Bugsy’s a nice guy and all, but he’s going to get everyone involved,” Morty began to feel dizzy again. It was getting difficult to breathe.

“I said that Lyra seemed to have it handled. She wouldn’t want us to spread this around.”

“That’s exactly why he would... Tell everyone. Bugsy... Trusts Lyra the least... Out of all of us. She bullied... Him.”

“Are you okay?”

Morty sat down on the couch, pulling in as deep a breath as he could manage. “I’m fine.”

Edith knew that he didn’t sound fine. “Bugsy said he was going to come down here to see you.”

Arceus. If anyone had the capacity to escalate a situation that didn’t need to be escalated, it was Bugsy. “Okay. I’m going to go on a walk—“

“Get to the gym by six, all right? I’m calling Whitney.”

“Whitney?” Morty grabbed Gengar’s ball. “Why Whitney?”

“Her Miltank is a skilled healer,” Edith replied. “Maybe they can help.”

“...Fine. Try not to get too many people involved. This whole thing is...”

“Embarrassing?”

“Yes.” Morty felt his arm shaking a little from having been next to his head for so long. “Bugsy’s going to bring a lot of trouble...”

“He’s here to help, Morty.”

“I know.” Morty stood up from the couch, wavering. “That’s the worst part.” He hung up on Edith, tucking his Pokégear into the folds of his scarf. He couldn’t ruin the line of his pants with a phone, after all.

“Hey, Gengar?” He let Gengar out of its pokéball. “Do you want to go on a walk?”

Gengar answered inquisitively, wanting to know if Morty would be okay.

Morty chuckled weakly. “I’ll be fine if you’re with me.”

The sun hadn’t risen yet when Morty began his stroll around Ecruteak. He and Gengar walked in silence, feeling the comfort of the night air. Morty felt especially cold, but dismissed it as the effects of the poison.

By the time Morty returned to his house, he felt exhausted, sick and more than a little thirsty.

After chugging a gallon of water in the form of 10 or so glasses, Morty found a spot against the wall to collect himself.

Morty tried to still his mind, but it felt like the room was spinning and he couldn’t forget how disappointed he knew Bugsy must be.

Gengar questioned his condition, but Morty shrugged it off.

“I’m fine, Gengar.” He stopped, trying to force himself to breathe regularly. “Thank you, but really. I’m fine. I’ll be fine by the end of the week.”

* * *

Morty did as he was told and arrived at the gym less than an hour later at just before six. When he stepped inside, he noticed Whitney sitting on one of the benches playing a video game, her Miltank curled up asleep beside her. “Oh, Whitney. Good morning.” He tried to project his voice, but it was difficult to push the air out, and his vocal cords squeaked like an abused recorder.

Whitney popped up. “Oh, my gosh! Morty!!” She practically tackled Morty to the ground, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “Oh, my gosh, oh my gosh! After I heard what Miss Edith said, I got so, so worried and I came here as fast as I could!!”

“O-Oh,” Morty trailed off, too tired to reflect her energy.

Whitney froze, let go of Morty’s shoulders, and give him a gentle pat on the chest. “Sorry. When I heard that you got super super sick really really fast, I freaked out! Miltank and I rushed over to help! Right, Miltank?”

Whitney’s Miltank rolled over to the two of them, sensing that it had been called. “Tank!”

Whitney posed like a magical girl. “Miltank, use heal bell!”

A soothing chime rang out in the room, and Morty felt the tightness in his chest loosen somewhat. “Thanks, Whitney.”

“No problem!” Whitney posed again. “Job complete!” Whitney patted Miltank on the head. “Good job, Miltank.” She put her hands on her hips and wheeled around to face Morty. “Pokémon moves don’t work as well on humans. Heal bell won’t do everything, so don’t push yourself, ok? I lost to a kid with a Rattata yesterday, so if he challenges you, be careful! All right?”

“Sure.”

“All right! Whitney out!” Whitney glanced at her video game console. “It’s only 6:02, so I should be able to make it to the Goldenrod gym in time...”

Morty watched her mutter to herself and dash off, Miltank having to use rollout to keep up.

Morty sighed, starting to regret not going back to sleep. His limbs felt so heavy...

He walked over to the staff room near the back of the gym and glanced around. No one here... Maybe he could take a quick—

“Morty. You’re here.” It was Edith.

No rest for the wicked.

“Good morning.” Morty suppressed a yawn.

“You never told me why you took poison,” Edith replied. “Or who gave it to you.”

“Karen gave it to me.”

“Kar— You know what, I’m not surprised.” Edith sighed. “And why did you use it?”

Morty formulated his thoughts. “Eusine was a good person. A much better person than me. It’s my fault he... I’m the one who should be suffering.”

“Do you think Eusine would think that?” Edith asked.

“He— No.” Morty shook his head, but that made him dizzy. “Of course he wouldn’t. He would always see the best in everyone.”

“Yes. He was right about you, that way,” Edith spread out a couple papers on the table. “And you, I, and he all know that it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was.” Morty moved to the wall away from the door. “I made the wrong call. I deserve this, really. Killing my own boyfriend— aren’t I a terrible person.”

“You didn’t kill Eusine.”

“I might as well have.” Morty slid down the wall into a fetal position at its base. “I’m going to rest here for a bit...”

Edith glanced at the clock, then out the door, then back at Morty. “Fine.”

Morty eventually got up from his resting position, pacing about the gym as the voices began to echo in his head again. All of his doubts personified were screaming at him. Morty, you’re a monster. Morty, you’ve disappointed everyone. Morty, you should have tried to drink that “coffee” and shut us up.

Morty had the floor shape memorized, and paced it completely distracted from the outside world. That was until he heard a squeak from the entrance side of the gym, followed by Clair’s voice: “could you at least wait for him to come here?”

Morty turned around, seeing a blurry Clair. He walked over to the source of the squeak, glancing down into the abyss. Bugsy himself was lying flat on his face at the bottom. The purple-haired child stood up, brushed himself off, picked up his net, and lit up with excitement when he saw his ghost-type counterpart. “Morty!”

“Do you know where the pad is?” Morty asked. “There’s a circular pad to get back up.” He walked off of the invisible pathway and onto the visible floor in the front of the gym, noticing that his vision was starting to bifurcate.

Meanwhile, Bugsy glanced around, located it quickly, and hopped on. Bugsy reappeared right next to Morty. “Jeez, you had me thinking you were nearly dead!”

Morty felt what little air he had being squeezed out of him in an unfashionable green hug.

Now, how was he going to explain anything to Bugsy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by ClariseTG.


	4. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can be hard to administer therapy to the unwilling.

“So,” he began, because even when he was not a day removed from a near-death experience Morty still found a way to be as insufferable as possible, “you probably have some questions.”

Ecruteak Gym may have been infuriating to navigate as a challenger, but it was perfect for holding clandestine meetings. Bugsy had insisted on staging what could only be described as an intervention after getting his initial bawling over Morty’s proximity to the end of the mortal coil out of the way, and she’d been dragged along with them when they’d finally decided on a meeting place, due to both passivity and, though she’d never admit it, veiled anticipation. Bugsy may have had a habit of jumping to conclusions in most respects, but he was right about how clear Morty’s downward spiral was. Hearing him try futilely to explain himself would certainly be interesting at the very least, and at more convoluted levels might even be worth the disruption to her schedule the whole fiasco had caused.

She wasn’t concerned about him, of course. She’d figured out why she was doing this; to keep the League together and for her own mild entertainment. Nothing more. To imply otherwise would be foolishly ill-advised.

“Heck yeah, we do!” replied Bugsy, because he hadn’t cursed once in his life and he wasn’t about to start now. “You’ve been in a bad way for a while, Morty, and we want to know why. You can tell us anything; after all, we’re friends, right?”

The dragon-tamer and Morty shared knowing looks, as if to say _no, definitely not, but don’t tell the kid that or he might start crying_ , before the blonde cleared his throat and began to do what he did best. “Well, you know how it is. I spent an extended period of time around Karen, one thing led to another, and before I knew it I was testing the poison resistance of my kidneys. Happens all the time.”

Bugsy looked unimpressed by the ghost trainer’s rather pathetic display of deflection. “…Surely that’s not the whole story.”

“Ah, right, you probably haven’t met Karen before, have you? Okay, so basically, she’s a huge—“

“Morty,” Clair interrupted, because listening to this was like listening to a clown try to cut himself. She glared at him as she spoke, ice in her eyes.

“Okay, okay, fine.” Morty backed off, because she’d been training her glare for years and making wisecracking idiots shut up was among the least of its abilities. He sighed deeply before he next opened his mouth, seeming to try to figure out the best way to put his next point. “So… you two know about what happened to Eusine, right?”

“He died,” Clair said, because that was all she knew and that was all she cared to know.

He paused, wincing. “Right, well, there’s more to it than that,” he eventually got out, because _no shit, Sherlock_ was perhaps not an appropriate response when a child was in earshot. The ghost-type trainer promptly paused again, because with deflection out of his conversational toolbox all he had left to dissuade further questions was uncomfortable silence.

Bugsy, unfortunately for everyone involved, was too impatient to be denied an answer. “Come on, tell us already.” At least the kid knew volume control, Clair supposed. If he’d been like half the other bug catchers she’d seen they could have held this meeting on Mount fucking Silver and a good third of Johto would’ve known—

“I killed him.”

It was like the air had been sucked out of the room.

“You… you’re kidding, right?” Apprehension laced Bugsy’s words, poisoning them.

“Wish I could say I was.” And Morty turned his gaze up from the floor he’d been resting it on and smiled this sad, sad smile, and Clair knew that even if that wasn’t the case, even if Morty was just being the same breed of idiot he always was, she was staring into the eyes of someone who firmly believed it.

Somewhere to her right, Edith heaved a deep, long-suffering sigh.

“Kind of funny, isn’t it,” he continued, and Arceus, how she wished the clown metaphor wasn’t so _accurate_ as his face twisted and contorted itself into some vague facsimile of an ear-splitting grin, “A Gym Leader up and killing off his boyfriend. Pretty sure there’s something in the contract saying we should have some vague minimum of _competence_ , but eh, guess I skipped that part, huh?” He was chuckling, now. “So, one day, I hear of this group of ne’er do wells taking some shots at a decrepit temple near here, right? So, naturally, like the _useless idiot_ I am, I decide, ‘Hey, this seems like a good opportunity for a little visit,’ yeah?” Tears welled in his eyes. “So I call Eusine, say ‘Yo, meet me out by this temple, think we might see something cool,’ and we go there and we meet up and I get him dragged into this mess a-and we, and we…” He was weeping when he finally finished his thought a half-second later. “Well, as Clair would put it, he _fucking died_.”

Having collected himself only just enough to finish his diatribe, he let the dam break, returning his gaze to the floor once more, making noises that could be interpreted as laughs or sobs.

Not for the first time that day, Clair had no idea what to do.

Bugsy (and what did that say about them, that a _child_ was the most collected of them all) once more bailed her out, even as tears welled in his eyes and his body started to tremble. “M-Morty. I, um, I don’t know what you know, I guess, but I don’t think this was your—“

“ _Of course it was my damn fault!_ ” Morty bellowed, angry, rage-filled eyes trained on both the child and himself. “If I hadn’t dragged him there — to what was basically a fucking _warzone_ , by the way — none of this wouldn’t have happened! We wouldn’t be having this conversation right now! He wouldn’t have died.” He paused for a second, voice warbling, before finishing with a quiet “I wouldn’t have to be here anymore.”

And then he just sat there sobbing, face in his hands, that same artificial smile plastered on what little they could see of it, and all Clair could think of was her six year-old self walking into the water and seeing which one of her will to live or her urge to die won out.

It was hard to tell whether a minute or an hour had passed before Edith cleared her throat and began to speak. “Excuse me, but I think the leader wants to be alone right now.”

\--

“We have to do something, Clair,” Bugsy said as soon as they left the room, and for once she paid rapt attention to him because it was better than listening to the white noise that had enveloped her mind. “He-He’s clearly not fine. Can’t you see? We have to do something. We have to do _something_.”

“And what do you propose we do?”

She took his puzzled silence as an invitation to continue. “You can’t just keep repeating that mantra like a broken record if you can’t follow up on it.” She turned toward the exit, taking care to light up every torch on her way out, boots clicking as she left.

“Hey. Hey! Where are you going?” The boy shouted after her.

She didn’t respond until she got to the door. “Leaving,” she replied, carelessly throwing it back over her shoulder as she closed it behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by LonelyRollingStar.


	5. Violent City

Morty slumped into a chair in the staff room, having already lost control to the sobs. At this point, he wasn’t trying to stop them— he had given in to self-loathing, embarrassment, guilt, and all of the pent-up grief from the past week.

He felt a hand on each shoulder, and without any words, Edith squeezed him in a hug.

The sobs died away into sniffling as he remembered all of the people who depended on him, and he tried to force himself back into composure.

He failed, in part. When Edith let go of him after what felt like a very long time, he said with a shudder, “Th-thanks, Edith.”

Edith sighed. She looked guilty too, which made Morty feel even more awful for pushing some of his issues onto her. “...We really should have known that there was something else going on. Of course you’re not okay— it was Eusine of all people. He didn’t deserve it—“

At this, Morty broke out a half-repressed sob, before fighting to contain himself.

“You didn’t deserve it, and I know for sure it was neither of your faults.”

All of the voices in Morty’s head were calling out that, yes, it was his fault, but Morty didn’t verbally disagree. He was too tired to keep fighting.

“I’m not letting you fight that challenger,” Edith turned to the door. “Not like this.”

“I have to,” Morty stood up, feeling his legs waver. “This whole gym depends on me.”

“Not when you’re like this,” Edith practically pushed Morty back into his chair. “Head home. I’ve seen people work while they’re sick and manage, or work while they’re broken down and manage. Never both. When it’s both, it doesn’t work.”

Morty tried to stand back up again to fight, but crumpled like a timid ball of aluminum foil as Edith hovered over him.

“Go home, Morty. You may be my superior in rank, but I’ve seen more of this world than you have.”

Morty let out a quivering sigh. “Fine...”

Edith let him get up. “Take my jacket. You don’t want the attention right now.”

“I can’t take your...”

“Okay. Do what you need to...” For the first time in this conversation, Edith backed off. “Just head home and don’t get into any trouble.”

Morty gave her a subdued nod and stumbled out, barely grabbing his bag on the way. Just before he left the staff room, he stopped, grabbed a tissue from the box on top of the lockers, dabbed his eyes, blew his nose, and threw it away looking a little less like he’d been crying. He took a deep breath and stepped out into the greater gym.

Once he laid eyes on the spot where Bugsy and Clair had been, he felt heat flush to his face. Ugh. He’d shown no restraint in front of those two! Bugsy just brought that out in you.

He stepped out into the all-too-bright sunlight, squinting and barely able to see as a figure approached him. Everything was pretty blurry, but he could see purple on top and green for the rest. It was impossible not to recognize that garish color combination.

“Morty.”

Morty picked up his pace. He was getting dizzy again, and Bugsy’s mere presence was making it worse.

“Morty!” Bugsy was at least trying not to be too loud.

Morty stopped suddenly, and Bugsy nearly ran into him. “What?”

“Morty, we need to talk.”

Morty started walking again. “We really don’t. Where’s Clair?”

“I don’t know,” Bugsy jogged a little, his short legs barely able to keep up with Morty’s pace. “But you’re on top of my list right now. Clair’ll come around.”

“Good to know you have a list,” Morty picked up the pace again, close to the bounds of how fast he could possibly walk. The sound of his own breathing was oppressive.

Bugsy was nearly running now.

“Morty, stop. Where are you going?”

“Home.”

As if this wasn’t expected: “...Can I come?”

“I’m not really in a good spot for a guest right now... My place is sort of messy.”

“It’s fine! ‘Sort of messy’ is nothing compared to the state of Falkner’s house all the time. I can help out, or something.”

He wasn’t _wrong_ , but that wasn’t about to stop Morty from trying to convince Bugsy not to come to his house— without actually telling Bugsy that he didn’t want him in his house, since bluntness was rude. “No, really, you don’t want to see it...”

Bugsy refused to take the hint. “It’s fine, Morty! Anything for you.”

Morty, unsurprisingly, was unable to dissuade Bugsy from politely breaking and entering, and watched in quiet horror as his own hand opened the door to let Bugsy in.

After far too long spent sitting on opposite sides of the couch— with Bugsy trying to strike up a conversation with his youthful stare and Morty avoiding eye contact at all costs— Morty stood up suddenly. “I’m... I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. Help yourself to the fridge if you want.”

Bugsy stammered a charcuterie plate of consonants before replying, “O-okay.”

Morty left the room and immediately found at least a little relief. He still had to hide the plethora of physical symptoms lingering from the poison— especially around Bugsy. He couldn’t truly relax unless he was alone, but alas, Bugsy.

Morty showered for the second time that day, trying to wash off his sins like Lady Macbeth.

He emerged bundled up in a towel, practically ran to his room, changed into pajamas, and crashed on the bed. It wasn’t long before the crying and toxins caught up to him, and he was out like a life.

Meanwhile, Bugsy just sort of paced circles in the living-room-kitchen area and wondered what exactly to do now.

He pulled out his Pokégear, and as quietly as he could, on the far side of the house, dialed in her number.

“Do you finally have an idea?”

“Shhhh!” Bugsy glanced over his shoulder. In a whisper, he replied, “Morty’s asleep and I don’t want to wake him up.”

Clair’s voice dropped to a whisper, too. “Morty’s— where are you?”

“His house?”

“What the fu-heck?” Clair sounded bewildered at best. “What are you doing in his house?”

“He let me come over, but then he showered and went to bed.”

“That’s usually a sign that someone doesn’t want you in their house, Bugsy.”

“I’m just worried.” Bugsy sighed. “I’m still not really sure what to do.”

“Why are you there, then?”

Bugsy took another look at the far side of the house, where he knew Morty was unconscious, somewhere. “I... I’ll be here if he needs me.”

Clair sighed. That was the vaguest answer she’d heard yet.

Bugsy hung up.

* * *

Everything went black, and Falkner was suddenly plunged into a sea of darkness.

Startled, Falkner took a moment to collect himself and register what had just happened.

“Pidgeot, did the power just go out?”

They exchanged a look, knowing by memory where each other were. Falkner took off his headphones and laid them down on the table, standing up and squeezing his eyes shut to rejuvenate them after several hours of Fortnite.

Pidgeot shed its shell of modified game controllers and shook itself out. It agreed that a power outage was likely.

Falkner fumbled around on his desk for a light source, finding the emergency flashlight quickly. “Come on, Pidgeot, we might as well investigate.”

Pidgeot joined him eagerly.

They descended the stairs of their apartment and located the fuse box. The street lamp was on... Everything looked fine, except— wait, why was the wire cut? Only the one that led to Falkner’s—

Falkner suddenly had a feeling of immediate danger and turned around. “Pidgeot, stay close.” He felt every muscle tense, and glanced around warily. There! Someone in the shadows. “Who are you?”

The person stepped forward into the light of the street lamp, revealing no part of their visage except a sparkly, purple-and-aqua cloak.

Falkner remembered how to deal with creepy civilians. He tried to straighten his back, putting on his most dignified voice: “Pardon my apprehension, but—“

The cloaked figure shot towards him, and any need to talk was suddenly abandoned. In a split-second reaction, Falkner sidestepped, and the cloaked figure skidded to a stop beside him, pulling out what Falkner immediately recognized to be a gun. Panic shot through him as he realized he’d left any weapons he owned inside of his house instead of bringing them, leaving him in no position to win this fight. “Pidgeot! Go! Find Lyra and tell her what happened!”

Pidgeot took off immediately in absolute trust, before stopping and actually observing the situation. It cast a worried look at Falkner, who twisted into a roundhouse kick to his assailant’s face, knocking the hood off. “Just go! It’s dangerous!”

Almost to confirm, the cloaked figure, revealed to be a haughty old man, aimed at Pidgeot and pulled the trigger, missing Pidgeot’s wing by a hair as their head was pushed almost into the ground.

Pidgeot sped off.

“You’d shoot at a Pokémon?” Falkner asked, following up with a knee kick to the stomach for distance and a wrist grab to the gun hand. He twisted open his assailant’s palm, hearing it clatter to the ground and twisting away. Falkner started moving as fast as he could away— if he could get to hiding, he might be able to get out of this alive.

Behind him, the old man fumbled to get the gun back in his hands and began pursuit of Falkner.

Falkner rounded the block corner, skirting the edge of a building and sprinting into the street, almost unbalanced with the gait he’d adopted. Where was he now? He’d lost track...

Water! He heard water lapping on a shore, and that meant one thing: the Bellsprout Tower. He took off in that direction, leaping when the ricochet of a silenced gunshot’s bullet hitting bricks clicked near his feet. Faster!

There! Up ahead, there was the reservoir! Now he knew where he was— what now?

Stopping at the edge of the water, Falkner turned to face his attacker. “Who are—“

Another silenced gunshot.

All of a sudden, he felt the pain of a hole ripped through his stomach. “Ah...!”

Falkner’s assailant dashed up and kicked him in the gunshot wound, and the gym leader curled up.

All it took was a blow to the head with the butt of the gun and Falkner was out.

The next morning, Violet City awoke to a jarring scene— blood was spattered on the ground near the Violet City reservoir, with a trail leading into the water, mostly washed away. The blood was confirmed to be Falkner’s. Falkner and his Pidgeot were missing— assumed dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens, like pudding in the fridge...
> 
> Chapter by ClariseTG.


	6. Hikikomoris and You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to escalate, as forces from without introduce their own dysfunctionalities.

She never was one for walking, not really. Simple striding or lethargic plodding had never been much to her taste, either. No, she found herself partial not to heroic marches or wayward roams, but to a sort of menacing prowl.

So, frankly, it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to Koga that she came sauntering into his chambers like the cat that ate the canary and got away with it.

“You look ridiculous,” he said, succinct and laconic as ever even when expressing his utter distaste for her actions.

“I could say the same to you.” She pushed her sunglasses up just far enough for him to catch a glimpse of her eyes as she sized him up, his deep violet yukata with a white belt making him look like a man who’d spent all day sleeping.

“The whole point of our mission is to blend in, Karen. Nobody wears sunglasses with a scarf unless they’re in Sinnoh.”

She gasped, mockingly. “How cruel. Truly, am I the only person in Johto with a fashion sense?”

“Look, just…” Koga pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke. How easy he was to rile up. “Could you please change into something less conspicuous?”

Well, she’d gone this far, may as well push his buttons a little more. “You know me, Koga. Inconspicuous is not in my vocabulary, nor is it in my wardrobe.” She gave a wolfish smirk as she replied, all but daring him to take the bait.

But he sighed, and shook his head, resigned. “I suppose we may as well just get on with it as is. Any more needling, and you’ll find yourself a fedora.”

The miracle of fatherhood had blessed him with the ability to back down in disputes over clothing, evidently. A shame. “Please, stop with the suggestions. Heaven knows what you might inspire me to do.” And heaven help this man if faced with a pushy cashier at a retail store, she couldn’t help but think.

\--

It was still dark outside by the time they’d finally managed to extricate themselves from the oddly not-plateau-shaped Indigo Plateau, either conveniently or inconveniently located right in the middle of Johto and Kanto. On the one hand, for organizational purposes, it was perfect, close enough to everything to administrate without preferring one region over the other.

On the other hand, it meant that a long travel was in store for anyone who wanted to go anywhere. If you didn’t have some manner of HM slave for travelling purposes, getting to the coast would test either your ability to hitchhike or your patience.

The day Karen would be caught using a pokemon solely for its moveset would be the day she’d be shot dead on sight for violating her principles.

Koga did not have similar qualms, so the two Elite Four members each grabbed hold of a Crobat and hung on for dear life as they barreled towards Violet City at speeds that the dark-type trainer was certain would ruin her hair. Oh, the sacrifices she made for this job.

Actually carrying a conversation while flying would be an exercise in futility, so she, sadly, was unable to toy with Koga any further as they descended on the city. Still, it did give her plenty of time to figure out what to mock him for when they made landfall.

“You know,” she began, feigning curiosity, “I’m rather surprised you aren’t more popular among the ladies.”

Koga merely sighed a world-weary sigh. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, you’d be quite the catch, if you didn’t dress like a Naruto-obsessed hikikomori.”

He didn’t react much to her words, but he reacted _enough_ , jumping slightly as she drawled out the end of the sentence in a tone somewhere between lust and condescension. ( _You see, he’s not a machine, he’s a man!_ ) He attempted to make a recovery, pulling his face into the same drearily boring mask of stoicism it was always in, but there was a sense of insecurity as he stabbed back with a classic, muttering under his breath. “You’re one to talk.”

“Oh, honey,” she began, because she was not above using such words to allow her barbs past stringent defenses, “There’s a difference between using an ‘edgelord’ type of pokemon and acting like one. Tell me, when’s the last time you went out just to have some fun? Not for the League, not for your daughter, just on your own?”

“I went to a temple in Mahogany Town just a few days ago.” His voice betrayed a sense of apathy beyond years. Perfect.

“Really? It seems I’ve pegged you wrong, then.” And then, as the spirits inside the ninja momentarily lifted, as his eyes gained a sparkle of something which could be mistaken for hope, she went for the kill. “You’re not a hikikomori. You’re a weeaboo.”

All hope lost, the light in his eyes gone, Koga was left with no choice but to concede utter emotional defeat and save what little was left of his pride. “Whatever. Entertaining you will get me nowhere. Let’s just focus on the mission.”

He trudged off in the general direction of the reservoir before she could comment on how he was even beginning to sound like the characters he so clearly reveled in the exploits of.

\--

Police officers, Karen found, were lazy, incompetent, and slow-witted at the best of times. But a few years as one of the Pokemon League’s _élite débarquée_ had shown her that even the most misplaced police officers in other regions put Johto’s alleged keepers of the peace to shame. This whole incident was a case in point, she supposed, but dear lord, if the League hadn’t been so close by she was pretty sure the entire city would’ve been overrun ages ago. It really spoke wonders about the police force’s capacity for incapability when the two of them could track down the smartest, most decent ones they could find and they’d still be little more than clueless idiots when questioned about what happened to one of their own.

“Now listen, gentlemen. I’m not in the business of making demands,” she said, as two men with all the attentiveness and intelligence of gadflies trembled in their seats, “But if I find out that you’ve been keeping things from me… Well. I’ve choked someone to death with a whip before, and in the face of my associate here, I’m so relatively little a concern that you’re best off just ignoring me.” One of the men, a brunette with the facial hair of a teenager half his age, audibly gulped. “So, if you have any details about the scene you’ve forgotten to mention… Now would be a good time to spill them.”

There was a terrible deafening silence.

There was a terrible deafening noise, as both men began screaming at the top of their lungs about how the other one did it, clearly, but it wasn’t them, could never be them, they’d never even seen a Falkner in their life, honest.

Then Koga elected to idly fiddle with a dagger, and the silence returned in full force. One of the men started whimpering like a dog not long after, the room filled only with his panicked noises and a desperate, whispered “I swear, it wasn’t me.”

Karen held her face in her hands and sighed. “Okay, this is clearly getting nowhere.”

\--

Interviewing the police for leads, unfortunately, was right out, because they were as dumb as boards and somehow even more lacking in common sense. Couldn’t exactly interview any witnesses, either — there were none, they weren’t dealing with idiots here — so there wasn’t a glut of options in front of them as they pondered their next move after what had to be the most fruitless meeting with a local law enforcement agency ever conducted.

Naturally, as the two of them were both firm believers in the benefits of hands-on experience when it came to taking a life or two, they elected to set out for the crime scene and perform an impromptu investigation themselves.

There wasn’t much there, but then, there probably hadn’t been much there to begin with, unless the police were blind as well as dumb. The scene of the crime held only some dried spots of blood forming a grim asterisk next to the artificial lake that lorded over the city like some ancient monarch caught up in his own hype, and…

“Hm.” Koga hadn’t been behind her, in front of her, to her side, or, really, near her in any way, but being the ridiculous child in a ninja cosplay that he was, Karen supposed she could grant him a pass for casually disregarding the laws of physics. “I’m pretty sure these feathers belong to Falkner’s Pidgeot.” He held up a heavily crumpled feather which looked like it’d be more in place on a miscolored Murkrow than it would be on a Pidgeot. (Which, honestly, could describe most Pidgeot’s feathers. They really were little more than overgrown street birds.)

“What, you know the guy’s father or something?” She sighed as she turned toward the man whose colors synchronized with the name of the city, hands on her hips.

“Well, yes. Most of us in the League do.” Koga gave her a glare she’d long since grown used to, one that communicated intense disappointment in her unwillingness to actually familiarize herself with the regions she’d found herself put in charge of. “But I wouldn’t be able to pick his pokemon out of a police lineup. He wasn’t breeding for looks.”

 _A missed opportunity on his part_ , Karen thought, but she gave voice to a different set of words entirely. “So how do you know where these feathers came from?”

At that, for what probably was the second time that week, Koga’s mask slipped. “Er… Well…”

“Listen, if you committed a murder or something in the past, I’m down with that. Hell, it’d make you a lot more interesting—“

“He, ah, plays video games with his Pidgeot? I think?”

 _What._ “What.”

Sheepishly, the older man rubbed the back of his head. “At least that’s what my daughter tells me. Something about a fortnight. I don’t know what a unit of time would have to do with ‘gaming’, but—“

“Please, tell me you did not just say what you said.” Karen pleaded, on the verge of hysterics.

“What? That he plays this fortnight—“

She started cackling, hearty, high-pitched laughter escaping her despite her best intentions. “Oh my god. Okay. Okay, alright, just give me a moment, I’m just— _Oh my god…_ ”

“What is it? Was it something I said?” If she wasn’t too busy waving a hand in his face while looking at the ground and sobbing in laughter, she might have remarked that he looked utterly ridiculous when he was confused.

“I’m sorry, I just— _Oh my god, he plays Fortnite with his bird…_ ” Ah. This. This must have been what cringe comedy was at its best, because _oh man_ , if they found this kid, she was going to have to _strangle him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by LonelyRollingStar


	7. Revenge Party

“Hm...” Bugsy scanned the shelves. He faced a difficult decision. “Which brand does Morty like...?” The consequences of this had the power to haunt him forever...

Bugsy had scanned Morty’s fridge earlier that day, and had detected numerous shortcomings in inventory. There was an appalling lack of both cream cheese and salsa, a milk carton which looked like it was about to give out, and only five grape Monsters in the fridge.

Bugsy had already loaded most of the necessities into a shopping basket, but here he stood, wondering which brand of salsa to buy as onlookers wondered at his familiar visage in an unexpected locale.

He turned around. “Hi!” The couple he addressed shied away from eye contact.

“Sorry, we were—“

“Have you ever seen Morty buy salsa?” Bugsy asked. “I’m not sure what brand to buy for him.”

The couple glanced at Bugsy’s basket, then at Bugsy, then shook their heads.

An old lady halfway down the aisle called out, “He likes the one with the pinap berries mixed in!”

“The One with a Tropius on the label?”

“Yeah!”

“Thanks!” Bugsy grabbed a bottle and stuck it into the basket. What a nice lady.

The cashier was similarly apprehensive at Bugsy‘s unexplained appearance in one of the very few grocery stores in Ecruteak that hadn’t been run by a single family for an eternity.

Bugsy stepped outside, shopping bag in hand, and surveyed the area. The sky was deepening in shade, and he could see a Ledyba in a tree. He gave the Pokémon a quick wave and dashed on back to Morty’s house.

Bugsy opened the door, stepping inside to find Morty awake, and absorbed in cooking something.

Or, at least, he was attempting to. Without Eusine around, Bugsy was pretty sure Morty could burn water.

“Hey, Morty,” Bugsy called out.

Morty recoiled, startled out of a thoughtful daze. “...Oh. It’s you.”

Bugsy started setting down grocery bags.

“Wait, you’re still here? What are those?”

Bugsy glanced at the two bags he had. “I went grocery shopping.”

“Why?”

“For you.” Bugsy shuffled his feet. “I wasn’t sure what else to do.”

Morty scanned Bugsy’s bright eyes and sighed. “Okay. Put them... Wherever they need to go. I’ll add extra eggs to the ramen for you.”

By the time the “food” was done, Bugsy had loaded all of the groceries into their appropriate spaces, including the fridge and cupboards.

The table was set, and Morty put the pot on top of a cork mat meant to protect the table.

Bugsy eyed its contents and winced. The ramen had melted into a blob of oil and flour, and while the one egg had been added correctly, the other egg had dissolved into wisps of white with an unbroken yolk in the center.

Bugsy politely demanded that Morty eat the majority of the... was it even ramen anymore? As opposed to giving half of it away to the bug-type gym leader. Morty was, at first, opposed to this, but soon gave in to the fact that he hadn’t eaten properly in almost two days, of which at least one had been spent stumbling around and retching into a toilet.

Bugsy watched in relief as Morty struggled and failed to hold back on vacuuming up what he had in front of him. After all, Bugsy was just as glad to avoid eating whatever it was that he’d cut a chunk out of as he was glad to see Morty in better condition.

The purple-haired boy then had a different issue to solve.

“So, uh, Morty,” Bugsy glanced at the window. It was dark out.

“Yeah?” Morty put his chopsticks down on top of the bowl, horizontally.

“Azalea town is really far away,” Bugsy explained, a pleading look on his face.

“I hope you’re not asking what I think you’re asking,” Morty replied.

“And I’m on leave for the next couple of days... And it’s late out, and—“

“If you’re asking to stay here for the night...” Morty interrupted.

“Yes, I am!”

Morty sighed, meeting Bugsy’s innocent stare.

“It’s fine, right? I don’t want to cause you too much trouble, but it might be—“

“Against my better judgment, fine.” Morty got up, carrying his bowl and utensils to the sink to wash them. “But you’re staying on the couch.”

“You mean it?” Bugsy’s eyes sparkled.

“Ugh, don’t make me justify myself or I’ll change my mind,” Morty grumbled. “You did go through that hellscape, and bought the only good salsa.”

Bugsy nodded zealously. “I’ll try my best not to bother you!”

And so, Bugsy slept on the couch. Morty stayed awake for awhile, but eventually took a nap.

The next morning, Bugsy was roused by the doorbell. “Wha...?” Expecting the dimensions of his nest in the forest, Bugsy misjudged the edge of the couch and fell to the floor. The impact woke him fully, and he blinked and got to his feet. “What? Coming...”

He suppressed a yawn and opened the door, seeing a league officer. “Yeah?”

The officer spoke into a walkie-talkie. “Alert Reginald that Bugsy will not be at his den. Over.” The man looked up at Bugsy. “Where is Morty?”

“He’s... Probably in his room. I fell asleep before he did,” Bugsy ran a hand through his hair, getting it a little tangled. “What’s this about?”

“It’s an announcement from the Violet City police department. It’s important.”

“Falkner’s being all official now, is he?” Bugsy shook his head. “I’ll go get Morty.”

The officer’s nigh-infinite patience paid off as Bugsy took several minutes to rouse Morty.

“Eusi— Huh?” Morty recognized Bugsy a little too late. At first, he expressed confusion that the gym leader was even in his house, but then he remembered the day before and his question became why Bugsy was waking him up at five in the morning.

“There’s someone at the door,” Bugsy explained.

Finally, the two approached the door, Bugsy considerably more awake than Morty.

“What is it Falkner wants?” Morty sighed. “V-bucks?”

“Falkner is dead,” the officer answered.

“What?” Bugsy felt the floor sway.

“We think he was shot at the reservoir. There’s a blood trail into the water, but we haven’t found the body.”

Bugsy put his hands over his mouth, barely able to breathe. “Falkner’s... gone?”

A chuckle rose from Morty’s throat. “You’re kidding, right?”

The officer shook his head.

The chuckle became a laugh, a hysteria that overtook Morty before it dissolved into tearless sobs and whimpers. Finally, Morty muttered, “another one gone, huh...?”

Bugsy fought to contain the breakdown that he knew had to happen.

Morty looked at the officer, a sudden realization in his eyes. “He was shot?”

“We found a bullet casing near the blood and traced it to a stolen gun.”

“Shot...” Morty saw the incident vividly before him. The blood, oh, the blood. His cold eyes staring into nothing. “What was it Lyra came to talk to me about? She said— Oh.”

 _Part of something bigger._ That was what she’d said.

“I need to sit down,” Bugsy turned away from the door, staggered three steps towards the couch, and shot back a polite “thank you” before making it to a seat.

Morty shook his head, forcing himself into composure. “Thank you for letting us know. We’ll take action on the situation when the opportunity arises.”

The officer sensed that Morty’s coherence was merely a veil. “Stay on call in case of more updates.” He performed the Johto salute, and Morty mirrored it somewhat half-heartedly.

As the officer left, Morty felt what little emotion he had left drain from him. He sat down on the couch opposite Bugsy, and both of them stayed silent and still for awhile as thoughts writhed out of control.

“...I’m going to Violet City.”

Bugsy looked up at Morty. “Haven’t you seen enough death?”

Morty looked pensive. “This is connected to Eusine.”

Bugsy froze. “...What?”

Morty stood up. “I hate to admit that Lyra’s right, but she implied that another death was coming, and she was right. Let’s head to Violet City.”

Sometimes the pragmatic one, Bugsy suggested, “You should call Edith...”

“Oh, yeah.” Morty crossed the house and dug out his Pokégear, calling up Edith. “Good morning.”

“Feeling any better?”

“Yeah.”

“A police officer came by the gym earlier to ask where you were. He said he had something important to say.”

“He found me.”

“What was it?”

Morty stopped. It was suddenly difficult to speak. “...Falkner’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“...He bled out. They haven’t found a body but he’s...”

“Oh.” Edith’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh, no.”

“I’m going to Violet City with Bugsy. I’m suspicious that...” Morty trailed off. “Either way, I won’t be able to come to the gym today.”

* * *

By the time Morty and Bugsy ate a snack to fill Morty’s concave abdomen and arrived at Falkner’s city of residence, the sun had risen. Police were all over the area around the reservoir and near Falkner’s apartment, and passerby were stopping to wonder what the whole ordeal was about. Especially worrisome was the presence of not none, but two elite four members: Karen and Koga.

It looked like Karen was making fun of Koga, which was to be expected.

Bugsy and Morty were equally unwilling to talk to Karen, but luckily this wariness only went one way.

“Socrates! Squirt!” Karen waved to them. A couple police officers looked in their direction. “You should have told me you were coming, I would have worn the shirt!”

Morty muttered something unintelligible and angry under his breath.

“Karen...” Bugsy stepped forward with a disheartened but good-natured smile. “We talked about this...”

“It doesn’t matter how strong you are,” Karen put one hand on her hip, letting her scarf fall over her back. She approached the two gym leaders, then ruffled Bugsy’s hair, much to his dismay. “You’re still tiny. So, you here to help us look for the body?”

“I think Falkner and Eusine’s deaths are—“

Morty was cut off by Karen. “Well, of course they are! You girls are so into each other, of course you think it leads back to Eusine!”

Morty turned red. “Don’t talk about him like that, please.”

Karen turned away and began heading back to Koga with a shrug.

“Guys, we shouldn’t fight...” Bugsy murmured, nervous.

“He bled out,” Morty recalled holding the dying Eusine, how he couldn’t talk as he drew his last breaths. “He bled out from a gunshot wound.”

Karen stopped, shooting a look over one shoulder. “So?”

“Eusine was shot by a hooded figure in dark brown,” Morty continued. “And they took him.”

Karen‘s tone was dismissive. She was not. “You’re saying that’s why we haven’t found Falkner’s body.”

“I’m saying that they were killed by the same person.” Morty stepped forward. “They’re connected somehow.”

Karen cast a glance at Koga.

Koga sighed. “It’s a lead. It might be worth exploring.”

“Well, kids, you heard what he said.”

“Just get this over with...” Koga whined.

Just then, they began to hear a high-pitched noise, one that bobbed up and down and cracked a little. Something a little like screaming. It came from the sky to the east.

Bugsy looked up first. Then came Koga, and then everyone else.

Something was in the sky, hurtling towards Violet City at Pokémon-using-fly speeds. It was a bird! It was a plane! No, it was a Pokémon using fly!

Koga immediately recognized both the Pokémon and its rider.

“Aaaaaaaah!!” Janine wailed at the top of her lungs, holding onto Pidgeot for dear life. Every flap of its wings nearly threw her off, and every time she felt like she was being thrown off, she’d scream louder.

Pidgeot was flustered and in tatters, and it swooped in to make a landing near the group it recognized. Bugsy and Morty jumped back a little as it slid into the ground at a strange angle, flailing as it hit the pavement and sending Janine flying.

Pidgeot stood up, thoroughly spooked, and Janine brushed herself off after skidding across the ground.

“Father!” Janine ran towards Koga, wrapping him in a tight embrace. “Fa-ther!!”

Koga could understand that Janine was very upset about something or other, but otherwise hugged her back with an awkward, confused distance in his eyes. He sent a pleading look to Karen.

Karen was not going to help. “Sorry. I don’t deal with those.”

Pidgeot preened a wing, feathers sticking every which way. It kept looking at the blood stains on the edge of the reservoir, wide-eyed.

Finally, Bugsy realized which Pidgeot this was. “Are you Falkner’s Pidgeot?”

Pidgeot gave a quick nod.

Janine let go of her father. “Pidgeot says Falkner’s in trouble! Is he okay?”

Koga glanced at Karen, then at Morty, for assistance. With a troubled expression, he stammered, “You didn’t hear the news?”

“What news?” As Janine saw the expression on her father’s face, dread crept into her expression and her voice became nothing more than a squeak. “He’s okay... Right?”

“Janine, he’s...”

Janine looked at the bloodstains on the ground.

Koga winced. “He’s dead.”

Pidgeot stiffened with a traumatized look.

“What...?” Janine’s voice quivered. “He’s... D... D-de...”

Karen tipped her head to signal Koga should do something, and Koga hugged Janine. “It’s okay...”

A long minute passed before Janine suddenly pushed away from Koga, her eyes red from tears. A look of absolute fury twisted up her visage. “Who did it?”

“The witnesses were useless—“

“You don’t know who?” Janine completely shut down her father. “Then we’ll find out.”

“Let’s not get too—“ Bugsy was quickly silenced as well.

“I don’t care that I’m losing my temper again!” Janine’s fists tightened. “I’m going to find the cretin that did this and I’m going to make them pay!” She glared wildly at the group. “Was this the only one?”

“No,” Morty declared. “The first murder we know of was just north of Ecruteak. Eusine.”

“Eusine?” Janine snapped. “They killed Eusine, too?!”

“She didn’t know Eusine was dead?” Karen murmured, and Koga shrugged.

“Yes, they did!” Morty’s regret and fatigue broiled up into violence alongside her. “I’ll help you find them!”

Pidgeot loudly agreed.

“Uh, guys...” Bugsy tried to intervene but was unheard.

Karen put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Morty’s off his meds. Pretty sure the bird is, too.”

“I’m not a kid.” Bugsy brushed off Karen’s hand.

Meanwhile, Janine and Morty were busy scheming; the two of them had decided to use the markup function on the Pokégear to draw on the map and locate likely bases for their killers. They’d deduced that the killer must have come from Ecruteak City! Or somewhere nearby, really. An area just southeast of Ecruteak was the central point between the two killings, and they’d drawn a circle around that point that crossed through the sites of the two killings as if it were legitimate investigative practice. Falkner’s bird simply hovered over them, watching intently.

They’d narrowed down their search to about half of the country.

“What are you going to do now?” Karen asked. “Are you two going to interview everyone in a 40-mile radius around Ecruteak?”

Janine, Pidgeot and Morty exchanged a glance as if it hadn’t occurred to them yet that revenge-fueled door-to-door interviews were probably a terrible idea.

“...We’ll look for a method and a motive,” Janine answered. “We know they used a gun, so we can probably narrow them down to gun owners...”

“The spirits don’t seem to know anything, but maybe someone else does...”

Both paused for a moment, then turned to each other and exclaimed in unison, “Sabrina!”

Bugsy groaned.

Karen flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Good luck. You’ll need it, but you won’t have it.”

* * *

Falkner opened his eyes with a groan, seeing the inside of a dimly lit room. Everything felt weird... Every part of his body felt out of place, and his head was spinning. He felt nauseous. It almost felt like he had more limbs than before.

He tried to move, but quickly realized he’d been strapped down to something.

He wasn’t quite sure, but he could sorta tell that there were other people in the room. He was surrounded by a sterile beeping noise. “Hey...! Who’s there...?”

A warbled voice, bubbly and inviting, echoed across Falkner’s fading consciousness.

“What...? Can you repeat...” Drowsiness overtook him.

When he opened his eyes again later, he found himself on the floor of what looked like some sort of cell. He pushed himself onto all fours. “Ugh... What the frick?”

This time, the voice was a lot clearer. “Hey, you! You’re finally awake!”

“Wh-what?”

“Doctor! Are you sure proceeding so soon was a good idea? We couldn’t control subject one! It escaped!”

Falkner couldn’t quite make sense of it. Subject what?

A woman Falkner could barely make out approached what the gym leader was quickly realizing was an ordinary cage. “I’m sure subject two will prove to be more agreeable. Right, Falkner?”

Falkner scanned her face, unable to make out any malice. Who was she?

She smiled under short black hair and thick-rimmed glasses and cooed, “You’ll be a great help in recapturing Subject One, won’t you? Yes, you will...” She sounded like an affectionate dog owner speaking to her pet.

Falkner noticed a remote in her hand, and felt a sense of dread even before she used it.

The woman pushed a button near the top, and Falkner heard a click from the back of his neck, like something opening. It was anticlimactic, really— a few seconds passed with nothing happening at all.

“How do you feel?” The woman asked, kneeling down to the cage.

“Uh,” Falkner tried to figure out what was different. Now that he thought about it, his body felt disproportionate— bigger and clunkier than before, with a pair of extra limbs. He glanced behind himself, spotting his feathered shoulder and a somewhat limp wing. “Different?”

“That’s not what I was referring to.”

That was when Falkner felt it hit— the wave of dizziness, followed by euphoria. Everything seemed light and airy...

Words floated in lazily, and Falkner was compelled to hold onto them, lest they float away: “Seems like it hit... Say, you’re going to have a great time joining us.”

Whatever it was that he was under the influence of right now, Falkner didn’t want to say no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have art!  
> Here's a ref of Falkner's new appearance: <https://www.deviantart.com/clarisetg/art/FalknerRef2-845957454>  
> There's an older ref of him on my Deviant Art page, with a clearer view of the facial pattern, but with inaccurate wing coloration.  
> They're not complete art refs, but they should help with understanding what he looks like! I hate reading long visual descriptions– don't you?
> 
> Chapter by ClariseTG.


	8. A Sense of Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clair pushes herself too far.

When she came to, the blinding light in her eyes almost managed to fool her into thinking she’d freed herself. But she was pretty sure that barring some major shakeups in the highest of offices of late, the steady voice coming in in muted waves from above her was decidedly non-divine in origin.

“So,” the voice stated, some bizarre mixture between disappointment and mild admiration clear by its intonation, “You’re still alive.”

Clair awoke groggy, ill-tempered, regretful, and, most of all, cold. Then again, taking an impromptu nap on a cave floor tended to impress all those emotions on you. The beacon of light that had seemed so stubbornly insistent on ridding her of the sense of sight had mercifully been removed, but she found herself straining her eyes once more for a different reason entirely, left staring into an overwhelming darkness without much in the way of the ability to move. A cutting remark, or something along those lines, attempted to leave her mouth, but not even air came out, not when she could hardly move her lips.

Come to think of it, she could hardly move much of her body at all. Even opening her eyes had been a chore. Might be nice to take a nap here. Sure, it was uncomfortable, but she was just so tired…

A sharp kick to her leg alerted her to the fact that there was another person in this cave, one who evidently didn’t take kindly to narcoleptics. “Come on, up. I haven’t the strength to carry you home, so you’re going to have to walk.”

She felt like groaning in protest, but in her current state there was no way she’d be able to spare the exertion. Slowly, faultingly, she began to hoist herself off the ground, every movement making her yearn for the sweet embrace of sleep and the oblivion it’d bring more and more, eyes nearly shut even as she craned her neck to allow herself to stand.

She still didn’t know who was behind the voice, as a result, though perhaps if she was more well-rested she could make some guesses as to the identity of its owner. “There you go. Take it easy, now. I’ve got you.” She barely managed to make it all the way up before she collapsed once more, but this time there was something there to catch her. “Just keep moving. We’re not too far from the cave’s mouth.” There was strain behind the words, now, but Clair didn’t care. She hadn’t the energy to.

There wasn’t much else she remembered of her little journey to rock bottom after that. (Perhaps that was because she wasn’t fully conscious at the time.) But there were fragments of memories there, individual sensations like stray puzzle pieces separated from their bretheren: the sound of hooves along soft ground, an unearthly chilling sensation on her skin, and, vaguely, an elderly, resigned face that she couldn’t quite put a name to.

\--

She awoke sometime between a second and an eternity later, warm, comfortable, and, most disconcerting of all, well-rested.

If this was the afterlife, she mused, in that rare sort of philosophical clarity you attain after you’ve aimed for the ground and missed, then she’d have to compliment its interior designer.

Dark oaken wood arranged in neat, polished logs formed the bedrock of the walls around her, windows like portals into an era gone by complemented by deep maroon drapes that matched not only the darker carpet but the lighter bedsheets, a golden doorknob on the other end of the room the only sign that there were any colors other than brown, red, and white at all. It was like an ancient picture of beauty from days long since past, some rustic Mona Lisa that she’d found herself warped in the middle of.

Either that, or she was delirious. As the events of her previous awakening from the land of the dreaming dead hit her, she was forced to conclude that it was probably the latter.

There wasn’t much vigor left in her system, but there was enough, and she’d never been the kind to just sit and watch the world go by. Trying not to think of how idyllic this little slice of paradise was, she sullied the bed, extricated herself from under its cover and walked towards the door in spite of her body’s protests. It took her several tries before she could grip the handle and turn it without her hand slipping off, but she managed it nonetheless, and before long she was taking her first steps into the hallway, slightly less groggy than she’d been before but not much better besides.

She wished she could say that she was an exemplar of grace as she strolled down the hallway into what she could only assume was the foyer, but in her heart of hearts she knew that she emerged from the connecting room lined with paintings like a Dratini deposited on land and told to walk after having had a few too many drinks. All told, it was a miracle she didn’t trip over herself.

She tripped over something else instead. Only dimly aware of what she’d tottered into, she hit the ground first, watching utterly separated from reality as the nightstand fell on top of her.

Normally, she’d at least have the decency to be upset. Right now, she mainly just felt resigned.

“Woe be it to me to tell you how to live your life,” a pair of boots and an ivory cane said, “But I think you need a little more rest.”

She looked up, lethargically as ever. Ah. So that’s who it was.

For someone who’d just recently carted a collapsed woman over to his house only for her to make a mess of his guest room and condemn one of his favorite vases to death by gravity, Pryce looked a good deal more apathetic about the situation than she would have expected.

\--

Sleep, in Clair’s estimation, was for the weak. Perhaps she was said weak, at the moment, but she wasn’t about to admit it, loath as she was to accept any flaws she found in herself, no matter how severe they were.

Funny, then, that the most crippling ones were always the ones that caught her off guard.

There wasn’t any way Clair was going to be going back to sleep in the near future, not after two varyingly unwilling voyages to dreamland, and Pryce wasn’t about to let her back out into the world after the stunt she’d pulled, so they’d compromised. Most of what Pryce owned was china, because of course it was, but just this once she was able to swallow her pride, downing her allotted amount of coffee in a jar likely originally meant to house the ambrosia of the gods.

“So,” Clair started, before interrupting herself with silence.

“So.” The older man parroted, one hand holding his jar with an iron grip and the other on the cane it found itself resting on more often than not.

She struggled only a little longer to find the words to her thoughts, but gave up once it became clear such an endeavor would take more than just a few seconds, leaning against a counter as she idly sipped at her coffee. Pryce went to his jar as well, and an awkward silence stretched between them, enveloping the room in a sort of haze of regret.

He was the one to break the silence. Of course he was. “You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he stated, matter-of-fact and laconic as ever.

“That’s up for debate,” Clair snarked back, because there really was no way she was ever going to be able to keep her mouth shut, was there?

“Sure,” and he rolled his eyes as he spoke to underline his point, “If you’re dumb and blind, maybe. Trusting, to boot.” He sized her up from across the kitchen, cold eyes piercing through the walls she put up like they were little more than freshly-fallen snow.

For once, she wanted someone to be blunter. “How I go about my day is none of your business, Pryce.”

“It is when you’re training twenty four hours a day for nothing and killing yourself while doing it.”

She scoffed almost without meaning to, retreating behind familiar defense mechanisms with a practiced sort of ease. “I’d argue that falls pretty decidedly under the purview of my business.”

“Cut the bullshit.” Pryce slammed his cane on the sturdy oaken floor, the thud caused by its impact echoing through the cabin. She’d be proud of her not flinching, had she not been devoting what little energy she had to allowing herself to be alone once more. “Let’s set aside your apparent disregard for your own life for a moment. Say I’m totally fine with you working yourself into an early grave so long as you have the decency to not drag others down with you.” The tone of voice he took on implied that he was decidedly not fine with that, but he continued speaking anyways. “Quick question: do you know how many gym leaders we have in Johto?”

“Seven,” she replied, because while she may have been doing a fine job of isolating herself, news did still have a way of reaching her.

“And how many valid candidates for the job, would you say, are in Blackthorn right now?”

Her mouth moved faster than her brain, to her displeasure. “Er… Not many.”

“In case you haven’t noticed what with your self-imposed exile, we have a shortage of gym leaders as is.” He downed the last of his coffee and took a breath before continuing, building into a harsh, biting crescendo. “You’re seeing this through. It’s not just that it’d drain morale, or that it’d be inconvenient for us; it’s that we simply _don’t have the resources to afford your throwing your life away_.” Evidently pleased with himself, he set the jar on the counter with a thump, punctuating his words.

Clair, for her part, was largely unfazed. “And does it matter?”

Pryce gave her a dim look. “And what do you mean by that?”

“You need someone _competent_ to help you in this.” Her eyes crept away as they spoke, lingering on the half-filled wastebasket in the corner, stuffed to the brim with papers doubtless filled with wastes of ideas. “Someone who’s able to stand tall in the face of these tragedies, who can fight the villains responsible at the source and still administrate their area in the meantime.”

The old man quirked an eyebrow. “And you’re not?”

“And I’m not. Competent, I mean.”

Anyone else, she supposed, would have found it hard to reconcile what was now a frozen glare with her words. Pryce found it second nature. “Hm. Tell me… Why do you push yourself so hard?”

She hadn’t been expecting that, not entirely, but she found the resolve to answer it nonetheless. “Because I have to,” She said, the words slipping out of her mouth like water out of a sieve. “If I want the privilege of so much as standing in my cousin’s shadow.”

Curses escaped his mouth as she finished, followed by a mutter that went something like “Oh, not _again_.”

With a response not forthcoming, she decided to continue. “We don’t have anyone else in our clan to carry on his torch. There’s no one I can foist that responsibility off to. I’m all that’s left. So I have to train, have to push myself, so as not to utterly humiliate both myself and my clan when I succeed him for good.”

There was a far-off look in his eyes, now, but it wasn’t the one worn by shell-shocked veterans. “Fuck… You’re an idiot, you know that?”

She let a small smile play on her lips. “I’m well aware.”

“Listen,” And he’d composed himself now, enough to where minor cracks at other parties’ expense no longer shook him. “I’m not sure,” And he paused, preparing to let his next point hang in the air like smog on a dreary Kanto night, “How well you actually _know_ your cousin.”

Hm. That wasn’t what she was expecting, but then, this conversation had been one of twists and turns. “Come again?”

“I’ve been in this business longer than most,” And now he was almost growling, ferocity in his glare, “And so I had the… well, you’d call it _privilege_ of meeting Lance while he was still going through the league.”

That had been some time ago. She made a motion for him to continue.

“He was terrible,” He claimed, and it shocked her senses like no amount of coffee ever could. “I could tell he’d been a dragon trainer, but most of what he had was just _terrible_ , and I don’t think he knew that his type even had any weaknesses at that point. Wouldn’t have done him any favors, though. He was the type of kid who’d be utterly convinced in the abilities of a Magikarp. Hell, he actually had one on his team, so he probably _was_.”

Against her will, she began to chuckle.

“Even when he got better at battling, he still wasn’t all that good at… well, people. He had a lot of admirers, but he never really seemed to notice. He couldn’t negotiate to save his life. The Dragonite he had was probably some sort of emotional crutch.” He took a moment to catch his breath, then continued. “I’m just rambling now, I guess, but the point I’m trying to get across is this — he wasn’t perfect. Hell, I’d say he had more flaws than anything else.”

“And as a champion?” Perhaps he was aware of how sad her eyes looked. Perhaps, at this point, she didn’t care.

“Lance is the reason _why_ we’re in this mess,” He stated, and for a moment she feared the shock she felt would finish the job she’d unwittingly started. “I’m serious. I already told you how he wasn’t any good at talking to people, right? Well, he applied that _winning_ approach to Neo-Rocket, and it took an unwitting volunteer to make his plans work half the time. He rushed half-cocked into pretty much every situation back then. Honestly, it’s a miracle he didn’t end up dead back then.”

“…Why are you telling me this?” She finally got out, gaze directed pointedly at the floor.

“Because you’re holding yourself to impossible standards.” At her attempted interjection, he continued, belaboring his point. “Lance was far from this perfect ideal of a trainer; I’d argue that in some respects he’s worse than even you, which is quite the achievement. But you’ve built up this grand myth in your head about him when he wasn’t even half that. You’re not comparing yourself to a ghost. You’re comparing yourself _to someone who doesn’t exist_.” He slammed his cane on the ground, giving a little extra punctuation to his sentence.

Clair sighed a little, then gathered what little fire she had left for her response. “…So? It’s not the man I’m competing against, it’s the myth. I need to be that good to—“

“You _don’t_.” Perhaps a little too harsh in his dismissal, he scaled himself back. “This whole conflict you keep talking about? The need to equal his legacy? It’s in your head. Nobody _cares_. When it comes to our job, we live in a backwater. All you need to do is do your bit for the cameras and acquit yourself okay in the battles and you’ll be fine. Nobody’s going to judge you for not being your cousin — at least, nobody who matters. And besides,” And at this he offered up what was probably his best attempt at a reassuring smile, “We need you at your best, not at something greater.”

She didn’t have the energy to keep talking, she found, not when her worldview was being crumpled and thrown into the garbage like common tinfoil. So she didn’t.

About an hour later, Pryce finally deigned to speak once more. “We’re going to be holding a meeting about this,” He almost whispered, and at once she knew precisely what he was talking about. “Rented out a room deeper into Mahogany Town for it. I want you to come. You don’t have to, of course, but it would—“

“I will.”

He smirked, and the effect was entirely alien, because she could hardly remember the last time she had seen someone doing that, and the thought would have unnerved her had she not been spending the whole day in that state anyways.

\--

To be frank, Mahogany Town was among the more beautiful towns in Johto, in its own way. Consumerism held the south with an iron fist, yes, but the north side was almost picturesque in its elegance, red-thatched roofs mixing with the traditional architecture of the region to produce what could almost be mistaken for some quiet suburban paradise, the cyan tower the Gym rested under the most prominent and only member of the area’s skyline.

She wouldn’t much mind living here, really. Sure, there’d be more people, but at this point that’d probably only be good for her.

She knocked on the door she’d been directed to, a slight jade thing that looked like it could hardly fit her inside, let alone the man who answered it.

“Hey, you finally arrived!” Chuck hadn’t changed much since she last saw him, but then, that had been true for as long as she’d known the boisterous man. “Was wondering when you’d show up! Jasmine was getting worried, and I told her that you’d probably just gotten lost, and—“

“Well, you were correct in that assumption.”

“I know, right? This town’s just a _mess_ to cut through. I told my Hawlucha to just drop me off at the oldest-looking place, and I swear he had to go through like seven places before we got here and — I should probably let you in, right?”

“Probably.” An emotion like fondness burrowed deep within her chest, and it was at once both unknown to her and oddly nostalgic.

“Yeah, probably should, huh?” He let her in, and shut the door behind her with all the force he’d long since trademarked, before running before her, resembling a large dog who had yet to learn that it was bigger than those it played with. “Anyways, where have you _been_? It’s been ages since we saw you last—“

“I’m sure she had her reasons,” Came a voice from behind her that she immediately recognized as Jasmine’s, half due to memory and half due to her deflecting a troublesome line of reasoning with all the care and effort of a half-hearted backhand.

“Yes,” Clair concurred, electing to play along for the moment, “I had my reasons, and I could tell you the whole story later, or we could get down to why we’re here.”

“Yeah, yeah, probably should, right?” Because there was nothing he couldn’t taint with his enthusiasm, he then elected to call for the last man who’d take kindly to his words. “Hey, Pryce! Clair’s here! Should we get the meeting started?”

“I heard you the first time,” He yelled back, hoarsely, “And yes. I’ll be right there.”

“Cool!” As Chuck gave a thumbs-up to someone who wasn’t there to see it and Jasmine shook her head ruefully, Clair couldn’t help but feel yet another sense she’d thought lost to her, that of belonging.

\--

“So, you’re probably wondering why I called you all here.”

Maybe Chuck was, judging from how he fidgeted in his seat, but if Jasmine had any thoughts of her own along those lines she didn’t let them show, judging by how her hands were clasped in her lap and how a neutral expression overtook her face.

“If you are,” And at this point Clair figured herself good enough at reading the old man to tell when he was going to attempt something along the lines of comedy, “Then you’re the kind of idiot the world never was meant to support.”

Even when faced with a joke at his own expense, she learned, Chuck had a habit of laughing like every joke was the funniest he'd yet seen.

“I couldn’t get into contact with the other Gym Leaders — odds are they’re doing Lord knows what and fucking us over while they’re doing it — and the few Elite Four members I could find had their hands full, so for the moment it’s just us. Lucky for us, we shouldn’t need many more accomplices.” He’d begun pacing, now, cane tapping along the ground as he did so.

“So, first of all, and this should go without saying, keep your towns in order. Local government here is fucked and the police forces are even worse, so you’re in charge of keeping the peace. Act like it. Odds are we’ll see panicking in the streets in a few days and that’s just about the last thing any of us want. Secondly, don’t go charging in if you get a lead.” Memories of her last conversation with the man brought themselves to light unavoidably. “We’ll need all hands on deck for this, so we can’t afford to see your dumb ass captured. Tell the rest of us before doing anything. Better yet, just don’t do anything period, and tell us what you know and only that. We can’t afford to hide shit from each other, not now.”

He’d stopped, which, to Jasmine, seemed to be as good an indicator as any that she was allowed to speak her mind. “How are we going to get this information? I hate to say it, but we need to act fast if we want a chance of stopping those responsible for this.”

“That,” and he outright grinned now, showing his teeth, “Is rather simple. See, judging by what Kanto’s been doing, we have a plant in the organization already.”

“Huh.” Chuck appeared to briefly entertain the notion of thought, but then cast it aside in favor of letting others do such for him. “Who?”

“Saffron’s Gym Leader. Her name was Sabine, or something along those lines.” Pryce gesticulated wildly with his free hand as he answered the question, clearly unconcerned with the specifics of Kanto’s plan.

“Her name is Sabrina,” Because, as always, it seemed to fall to Jasmine to bring order to these things, “And I’m pretty sure she’s a psychic.”

Pryce seemed, for his part, unconvinced. “Yeah. Well, what they’re doing’s good and all, but I figure we’ll need to go a little deeper into their little group to figure out what’s going on.”

“And do we have a way to do that?” If it was up to her to play the pessimist in this meeting, Clair thought, then she’d do it goddamn well.

“Actually,” And at the sound of the doorknob turning Pryce grinned once more, “We do.”

Cold air blasted into the room, but hardly anybody cared, not when what their eyes were seeing was so much more interesting that what they felt.

“Huh. Still haven’t ditched the leotard, Clair?” He had a beard, now, and his face looked a mite less childish, but it was still unmistakably Silver that was behind those features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by LonelyRollingStar. It's a bit long.


	9. Silver Has a Ponytail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an extra before this chapter: <https://www.deviantart.com/clarisetg/art/Not-Quite-an-Adult-847705565>  
> That link leads to an image of our... "adult" Silver. We don't know how, but his fashion sense somehow declined in the 10 years since he and Lyra met.

“That was all you wanted, Gramps?” Silver flipped a bit of overgrown hair over his shoulder. “To ask me for help? Aw...” It was tied back, but that still wasn’t enough. It was as unruly as he was, and poked out of its shaggy red rope at odd angles.

Typhlosion settled down in the corner, curling up to fake a nap with one eye open, watching.

Pryce did not waver. “You have quite a few contacts, don’t you?”

Silver tipped his head to the side. “Why, yes, I do. I do like to be owed a favor...” Silver put his hand on his hip. “What is it that you want to know?”

“You know what happened to Falkner.”

“Yes. I’ve heard all about that,” Silver shook his head. “Shame whoever it was didn’t fess up. I would have liked to thank them.”

Chuck glared at Silver. “So you don’t know who did it?”

“No,” Silver checked his freshly-painted black fingernails. “If you want a lead, though, since Pryce had the audacity to call me in advance... Well, that’ll be a larger favor.”

“Fuck,” Pryce reacted, “What kind of favor?”

“I want to use the Dragon’s Den for training.”

Clair all but vibrated out of her seat. “What?”

“It’s the only place in Johto with strong wild Pokémon to fight. All the others are weak.”

Jasmine’s cool look barely betrayed the deep offense she took to this.

“It’s fucking Johto. What do you expect in such a terrible region? It’s all gone downhill since that dragon dude left.”

Clair looked even more enraged.

“So, mind letting a _better_ trainer use your cave, Clair?” Silver stepped on a chair.

Clair was about to strangle him.

Typhlosion was ready to jump into the fray, but barely betrayed it behind its nonchalant watch.

Pryce held her back. “Clair, we need his help.”

“I’m not giving up the Dragon’s Den to someone like him!”

Silver chuckled and a smug grin crept across his face. His gray gaze slithered victoriously over the scene.

Typhlosion relaxed.

“Silver!! You probably only need somewhere like the Dragon’s Den because you’re too weak to train on your own!”

Silver’s eyes flashed crimson. “What did you just say?” He took a step towards Pryce and Clair. “Let her go.”

Typhlosion got up on all fours, fire sparking around its neck.

Jasmine immediately got up, holding her lipstick gently in one hand and standing between the two groups with a strained smile. She spoke in a whispery falsetto: “Cease and desist before Steelix and I bash both of your skulls in.”

Silver and Clair fell silent under Jasmine’s terrifying aura.

Pryce let go of Clair, sensing that Jasmine’s authority superseded her rage. “We do need Silver’s help. Clair, you could use a rest, as well...”

Clair wanted to react, but was oppressed by Jasmine’s proximity. Instead, she simply fumed.

Sensing that Clair had conceded, Pryce continued, “Silver, you may use the Dragon’s Den for two months if you help us.”

“Four.” Silver’s eyes reverted to their usual ashen tone. Typhlosion looked eager.

“Three.”

Silver looked satisfied, as did his Pokémon.

“Clair may fight you over it, but you two are both strong trainers. That can be a form of training in itself.” Pryce chuckled.

Chuck guffawed.

“I accept.” Silver held out a hand, and he and Pryce shook on the deal. 

Clair’s face twisted up in shock.

Silver ignored her. “These murders started a little over a week ago?”

“Falkner died two days ago,” Pryce replied.

Silver laughed. “You seriously don’t think he was the first one, old man? How stupid are you?” When Pryce didn’t react as planned, Silver continued (a little disappointedly,) “Some kid named Eusine got scratched a week before Falkner. Right before that, this new gang started acting all suspicious. Team Chimera, they’ve been calling themselves.”

“Chimera?” Clair mouthed.

“Yeah, stupid derg,” Silver brushed away some hair as it slid into his face. “They sell Pokémon on the black market. Ever since they moved in here they’ve been competing with Giovanni’s group for sales.”

Jasmine growled. “Despicable.” Everyone stiffened except for Chuck.

“Do they sell rare Pokémon?” Pryce asked.

Silver shook his head. “They sell abominations. I stole one ‘cause I was curious.”

“You took one?”

“Well, _obviously_. I wasn’t going to give them any money,” Silver pulled a Premier ball out of his pocket. In an act of surprising gentleness, he murmured to it, “Hey, you wanna come out? These are nice people...” After some sort of unspoken communication, he pressed the button and in a dim flash of light what looked like an Eevee with a rose around its neck appeared.

It had no tail, and its back seemed to have a cape made of a large, sharp leaf draped over it. Rose petals grew from its legs at odd angles and its paws had rose thorns for claws. It cast a frightened look at the gym leaders and scrambled to jump on Silver and tuck itself away into his open jacket.

“Hey, hey,” Silver coaxed, wrapping his hands around the tiny, frightened creature, “Come on, don’t be scared. Hey, no claws or you can’t go in the jacket.” Silver tried to pull the creature off of himself, but it held fast to his shirt. “Come on...” He barely managed to uncouple himself from the Pokémon and set it down on the table, where it condensed into a loaf and whined, casting a shy glance at Typhlosion. “Sorry... You can play with me and Typhlosion later.” Typhlosion barked in agreement, trotting over, putting its hands on the table and nudging it with its snout.

Clair sized it up. “What... Is it?”

Silver brushed his hand over the creature’s spine, smoothing down what little fluffed-up fur it had. “She’s a cross between an Eevee and a Roselia, I think.”

Jasmine gagged but quickly regained her composure.

“What the fuck?” Pryce looked it over. “The poor thing looks traumatized!”

The hybrid drew in tighter, and its fur fluffed up again. Typhlosion hissed defensively.

“I think Bugsy told me about this,” Chuck blurted, a little out of place.

Silver lifted it off the table, clutching it to his chest and covering it with his jacket. “Sh, sh...” Typhlosion was equally supportive. Silver glared at Pryce. “Then don’t raise your voice, old man. I’m as reluctant as you are to be around Team Chimera, but if you want more, I’m going to need—“

“Four months, and you’ll help us.”

Silver rolled his eyes. “I was going to say more, but I’m feeling charitable in front of this little guy. Sure. I’ll see what I can find out undercover... I know where they’re staying, anyway. That’s how I got one of their hybrids while it was still acting normal...”

“Normal?” Clair felt dread in her stomach.

“They drug them,” Silver answered, scritching the hybrid’s neck. “This one hadn’t gone through that, yet, but I heard that they made them suggestible. Changed their morality to suit their new owner.”

Jasmine pulled out Steelix’s pokéball and stared at its glassy red surface for awhile, heaving a nauseous sigh and standing. “I’m going back to Ampharos before Cinnabar Island repeats itself.”

Silver shrugged. “Okay.”

Chuck waved her off. “Bye-bye!”

Clair and Pryce exchanged a glance as the Steel-type gym leader stiffly absconded.

Silver turned towards the door. “When do I get to use the Den?”

“After you’ve gotten us the information we need to stop the murders,” Pryce replied. “And now that you’ve reminded us about them, the fusions.”

Silver made a noise halfway between a sigh and a growl. “Fine. I’ll head to them now, then.”

Pryce hesitated a little before replying, “thanks.”

Silver was already gone.

* * *

One limped over to the shade, dropping onto the ground to rest against a tree. “Urgh...” His eyes traced a path over the clearing he’d just crossed— it was a small lake, probably made by a Pokémon at some point in the far-flung past.

His body felt heavy, and his muscles ached. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d last eaten. Why hadn’t he prioritized that earlier? It was only a short rest— he had to get up and move again at some point. How many days had it been? Two? Three? They’d bled into one another in a dizzied blur.

He didn’t know which way led back to civilization. He didn’t know how to find his way back— he was thoroughly lost.

He had to get up and find something to eat. The emptiness of his stomach called out to him again in a low rumble, gnawing at him from the inside. Once again motivated to continue his search, he pulled himself onto all fours once again. The weight of exhaustion pulled him back down to earth almost immediately, leaving him to realize how stranded he was.

It wasn’t just exhaustion that kept him from walking; he’d had an _enjoyable_ encounter with a Weepinbell earlier. His right hand (or forepaw, he wasn’t sure,) still stung from the remains of a terrible acid burn. It was healing unusually fast, but One wasn’t surprised anymore.

Yeah. _One_. Whatever he was now, it definitely wasn’t what he was before. The only thing in common was a set of memories. One was a copy of a human, and that human deserved that name more than he did. That human was still living his life.

So, “One.” That was his identity, wasn’t it— as subject one? The first of many monstrosities. The beginning of something terrible. So yes, One was a good name. It worked for now.

He hoped his human, real counterpart was still enjoying that odd perspective Morty always had. He was interesting, all right... One’s thoughts drifted, recollecting many happy moments with his boyfriend. He snapped back into reality as he heard a rustle, raising his dusty head from the ground. He looked around as well as he could, but saw nothing. He didn’t hear anything else.

Was this what they meant by having your life flash before your eyes? That, when you were on the brink of death, you had nothing better to do than wait and remember?

One struggled to get to his feet again, collapsing and watching as an Aipom descended from a tree, plodding softly up to him.

One was warier than usual; in the past three days, he’d been pecked by Spearow, caught up in a Tangela’s trap, and, of course, had the encounter with the Weepinbell. Regardless, he tried to sit up and greet it, giving the Aipom a pleading look. “Yo...”

Aipom sized him up, got a strange look on its face, and dashed off. One’s empty stomach dropped. It was probably going to tell its friends that there was a stranger in its territory. Still, there was a chance, a small chance that it would come back and help him.

After all, he wasn’t going to let the cynicism infect him. One day, he might cure Morty of it, but to do that, he had to be a good example, and labor to see the best in everyone.

He’d asked the Spearow for directions before it attacked. He’d been trying to learn how the Tangela here survived when one tried to turn him into its meal. He’d been pleading with the Weepinbell to help him try to return to the lab and destroy their equipment with its acid.

Was he naive? Yes. Morty always said he was, and he was right.

One was going to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. It was going to kill him, but he didn’t want to live knowing he hadn’t always been true and open to everyone. He had to live up to the kindness of Suicune, after all. At least Morty understood that...

One felt something hit his hide. He opened his eyes to see an oran berry. Another joined it, and he saw Aipom, carefully keeping its distance as it tossed berries towards him.

It had come back, and it brought food. “Thank you,” One practically swallowed the first berry whole— nothing tasted that good. It wasn’t long before he had devoured the other ones. By the third berry, a sitrus, he’d witnessed the acid burns on his paw vanish. 

Aipom, curious, approached a little. It was still a ways away. “Ai?”

“I won’t hurt you,” One croaked. “You saved me.” Oran berries really were quite powerful. He felt the strength to stand again. As he rose to his feet, Aipom leapt back.

One sat down, mostly upright this time. “It’s okay...”

Aipom seemed reluctant at first, but slowly came closer, expressing curiosity.

One was a little embarrassed. “I don’t come from anywhere special,” he sighed. “It doesn’t really matter all that much, I guess.”

Aipom asked another question, using its paws to gesture specific concepts.

“Friends? Uh, yeah, I had lots of friends.” One gauged Aipom’s reaction. “No, I can’t bring them here. It’s just me. ...You want help with something?” One got to his feet. “Sure. I don’t have anything else to do...”

He let the Aipom lead him through the forest, past shrubs, trees, puddles and even small lakes. He tried to ignore his warped reflection in the water— short blue fur, a white belly, and a purple mane that flowed from underneath the crystal-shaped horn on his head. He looked like the creature he’d chased for 11 years, and it tortured him to no end. He was even running on all fours— balancing upright on his legs was an unusually difficult task, and while he could pull it off sometimes, it was difficult, to say the least. He was definitely faster like this— not quite the North Wind, but definitely Pokémon speed.

Aipom stopped at the edge of a clearing, peering in cautiously. One also stopped, noticing the issue. It was that Weepinbell from before. It was sitting on what was, notably, not a Weebinbell nest. “Is that where you live?” One whispered.

Aipom nodded, and approximated an explanation that its home was taken by this Weepinbell, and that it had been threatened with acid and terrorized. Aipom had seen One’s wounds and assumed that Weepinbell was a common enemy.

“You’re right,” One murmured. “We should scare it off, but how? Poison-types are weak to...” One began muttering permutations of type advantages and disadvantages when Aipom broke in.

Wasn’t One able to use Ice Beam? Aipom seemed pretty sure it had seen the other Suicune use that move.

“Uh...” One wasn’t sure whether or not he could use any ice-type moves. Suicune didn’t learn Ice Beam without TMs, only Aurora Beam... He assured Aipom that, “I can sure as hell try.”

One tried to picture Suicune using Aurora Beam. What did it do? It opened its mouth, and— nothing happened when One tried it.

Aipom asked if One knew how to use that move. Maybe he needed more experience.

One wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to give up. After several failed experiments with imagining various sensations, Aipom suggested that he throw himself into the heat of battle. Trial by fire! It was how Aipom learned how to fight, anyhow.

“You know what?” One shrugged nervously, “Why not?”

One dashed out into the clearing, howling to get the Weepinbell’s attention.

The Weepinbell noticed him, preparing to spit up acid.

One took off, running unpredictably to try and shake off the Weepinbell’s aim. How was he supposed to do this?

Aipom started cheering from the sidelines, and Weepinbell noticed it, aiming an attack.

Regret dawned on Aipom.

One sprinted towards Aipom, scooping it up in his jaws and barely avoiding the spray. A little got caught in the tip of his mane, smoking up as it singed the hair. One tossed Aipom onto his back and shook his head. “Thanks, but—“

One switched direction abruptly as he noticed another spray of acid.

Aipom slapped his side with its tail to get his attention. One glanced over his shoulder to the purple Pokémon hanging from the top of his mane.

Aipom hurriedly explained that he had to let his instincts take over.

...Let his instincts take over? One thought about it, slowing his breath and trying to clear his mind. What was there? He was still a little hungry. That was an instinct. There was also something else... One gave in to it, moving in the way that felt most natural. His body tensed up in different ways than before, and he opened his mouth without thinking. A multicolored beam of light shot towards the Weepinbell, freezing the next spray of acid into tiny crystals that fell to the ground. One felt his mouth become freezing cold and pushed off towards his opponent, ducking under another attack and chomping down on Weepinbell’s main body. Ice spread across its surface before it was encased in a solid chunk of frozen water.

Aipom rejoiced, climbing down, tapping on the ice to make sure it was solid, and leaning on it. A job well done.

One sat down. “I just did that?”

Aipom crossed its legs. It had a lot to teach its new pupil. They were partners, now. One was pretty sure this Aipom had just referred to him as the Aipom-language equivalent of “kid.”

Aipom started to try to pick up the Weepinbell cube. They had to move it out of there or it would attack them again later. Together, they managed to relocate the Weepinbell.

Aipom invited One to stay with it.

One was thoughtful. “I...” He sighed. “Yeah, I can stay here.”

* * *

Twilight was falling.

Silver grumbled to himself, brushing hair out of his eyes repeatedly as if that was going to erase the terrific encounter he’d just had with his father. Every time he did, more hair would fall in his face, but he was too lazy to cut it. Typhlosion seemed to like this look, anyway...

If he was going to use Team Rocket’s name to get entry into Team Chimera, he might as well ask Giovanni first.

His father wasn’t exactly thrilled about Silver making a deal with the sort of administration who would willingly work for Lyra, but conceded that stopping some serious competition could help what the new Team Rocket; it was the one that had risen up mostly out of Lyra’s numerous enemies, and that had taken to breaking the law to show that they disrespected the current authority as much as it disrespected them, and that had made back some big bucks for Giovanni. Giovanni doubted that a group poised to take out the unstable fourth Team Rocket (following Rainbow, Neo and the original) would actually want a deal of any kind, so he suggested Silver go in alone. It wasn’t like Silver was notoriously on good terms with Team Rocket— he’d publicly dismissed them multiple times. Of course he could just tell Chimera that he wanted to fight the Rockets.

So, here he was with a stack of cash, knocking on their front door with the grace of classic Silver. He’d left the hybrid in Mahogany under the protection of Typhlosion— he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone so much as touching a hair on Typhlosion’s head, and that hybrid was bound to freak out and blow his cover. Those two weren’t getting involved.

The doors opened, and some kid with an “evil team grunt” vibe opened the door wearing a garish outfit. “Who are you?”

“The name’s Silver. You?”

“Why are you here?” The grunt glanced around behind Silver into the Goldenrod City alley.

Silver pushed his way in through the door. “Friendship.”

The grunt was overpowered. “You’re going to have to leave, s-sir.”

Silver flipped his hair over his shoulder menacingly. “I know this is Team Chimera’s hideout. I’m here to chip in on these stronger Pokémon. Maybe humiliate Giovanni in the process.”

“H-hey,” the grunt squealed as Silver tossed them aside.

“Silver, huh?” A deep, feminine voice called out.

Silver glanced behind him, following the sound. He turned to see a musclebound woman with hair bound up in a bun. She wore gym shorts and a wifebeater, both divided in half diagonally into green and reddish brown.

“Hey, sweetie. You looking for Team Chimera? We’re right here.”

“I want in,” Silver stepped forward boldly. “You’ve got hybrid Pokémon, I’ve got a grudge.”

The woman put her hands on her hips. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here and talking like that.” She smiled a little. “I like that in a guy. You’ll be useful.”

Inside, Silver was a little repulsed, but he grinned. “I’ll be more than useful.”

“You’re that guy who challenged Lyra 10 years ago, right? Tried to beat her to the championship? Nearly did?”

“She’s weaker than she likes to think. I’ve gotten stronger since then,” Silver tried not to let his eyes change.

The woman folded her arms. “So you’re a pretty strong trainer, huh? Good instincts for battle?”

“You could say that.”

“Your Pokémon... You chose them based on good genetics, I hear.”

“Yeah. Weavile’s one of the strongest of h—“ Silver remembered that trainers that focused on eugenics rarely used gender pronouns for their Pokémon. “...Its kind.”

“A good addition to our gene pool,” she smiled. “The name’s Minotaur, but you can call me Minnie.” She tapped a device clipped to her ear. “Oi, boss. I’ve made my choice. Silver’s here at the Goldenrod place.”

Silver couldn’t hear the reply, but she looked pleased.

“Aight. Boss says I’m taking you to headquarters.” She grinned. “Come over here, so I can show you a beaut we made this week. She’s big, so we have to stand near the edge or we’ll get crushed.”

Silver was hesitant to get so close to someone so big, but reluctantly complied.

Suddenly, Minnie’s smile turned wicked. “Sucker.” Silver barely felt her hand grabbing the back of his head before his face was smashed into the floor with such force that he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's two extras this chapter! Actually, drawing Silver was why this chapter came so late in the day...  
> Here's an image of One's current appearance: <https://www.deviantart.com/clarisetg/art/One-847689996>  
> Yeah, I did draw all of the characters doing almost the same poses that they do in their official HGSS character art. ...I'm uncreative with posing...
> 
> Chapter and visuals by ClariseTG.


	10. Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what Sabrina's doing.
> 
> Being an idiot, that's what.

Team Chimera may have been morally bankrupt, of questionable sanity, and lacking in even the smallest amounts of restraint, but she had to concede that they did know their way around interior decorating. She’d never been particularly good at it herself, her apartment so utterly minimalist it almost looked like a conscious choice, but Chimera could pull off a ramshackle, grunge-esque look that she’d never be able to so much as conceive of in her wildest imaginings. The interrogation room was decorated in a sickly yellow, suspicious rust stains on the wall serving to heighten anxiety in those not used to the aesthetic, cold iron bars, chairs, and tables contrasting with the walls to give the impression of a sterile look. There were chains, everywhere, and restraints lining the walls. Few of them were used. They weren’t meant to be much more than a deterrent, of course, but some small part of her took comfort at that fact. Proof that she had a conscience, she supposed.

Good thing she was so good at burying it, then. Wouldn’t have been able to make it in here otherwise.

She should have at least had the decency to act _surprised_ when she saw who the organization she’d oh-so recently joined had decided to take prisoner, if only for his sake, but she wasn’t shocked in the slightest and so she didn’t look it. For her to be at all thrown off-balance by this she’d have had to been braindead, what with how their unlucky captive had been regularly pulsing with regret and defiance so intensely that she could pick it up even when she wasn’t trying to, adding to the ever-growing hum of verbal tinnitus that never quite seemed to go away no matter how hard she tried to dissuade it.

Most people tended to think of minds as being like books, closed to all outsiders but packed with a wealth of knowledge if one knew where to look. In Sabrina’s experience, they were more like billboards — impossible to ignore, obnoxiously present, and with all the educational value of a set of books on childrearing authored by a pedophile.

And if Silver was a billboard, then perhaps he’d be one painted awkwardly onto the sign of a blimp crashing into a sporting event. He certainly looked the part of an enabler of tragedies, at least. How the man had gone any period of time without having his lacking sense in fashion so utterly lambasted as to be humiliated off of him was beyond her.

Then again, not too long ago, she’d been the same.

“So this is the kid,” the brawny woman to her side stated, glee emanating off of her in waves. “Hell if I know what his deal is, but he’s just about the clearest double agent I’ve ever seen.” She looked to the psychic to her side, lips curled into a particularly offputting smile. “You know the brat, right?”

“I do.” The more succinct, in this scenario, the better.

“Good. Keep watch on him, see if you can’t get him to squeal on who his employer is while you’re at it. Be back in, oh, twenty or so minutes.” She strolled out the room and disappeared behind a corner, chuckling both inside and out, deception on the mind.

When it came to her captive, she didn’t need to read his mind to know what he was thinking. The sense of betrayal was obvious enough.

There was a gag around his mouth. No need to speak, then. Good. She liked it that way.

 _I know you’re feeling confused right now._ Not a question, but a statement. It was obvious enough from the way he was carrying himself.

Briefly, his mind was twisted in fear, but if that moment reflected on his expression then Sabrina sure as hell didn’t catch it. _No shit, Sherlock._

Hm. Captivity had left him in a rather snarky mood. No worse than usual, then. _If you’re concerned I’m on their side, then rest assured that I’m not._

 _Wasn’t worried in the first place._ Just how he thought he could lie to her was one of those things she’d long since resigned herself to not knowing.

 _I got the distinct impression otherwise._ One of the disadvantages of opening up a link like this — thoughts could just slip by without her meaning to let them. Privacy was little more than a memory with such active.

 _Oh, shut up._ Of course, as the one initiating these links, she was hardly in a position to complain. Others, no doubt, suffered worse. _What the hell kind of position did you land yourself, anyways?_

_Admin._

This time, shock did drip into his expression. _You’re kidding._

 _It sounds better than it does._ How best to put it? Ah, yes. _From what I’ve seen, it’s just an excuse to keep watch on me._

 _Ah, so you got kicked upstairs. Lucky you._ Was he annoyed? Probably. Such seemed to be what his thoughts indicated. She was hardly much of an empathy, much to her lament, but with her skillset such lamentations were little more than frivolities.

And she’d managed to pick up his tone without even knowing what he meant, this time. She was getting better, maybe. _What does that mean?_

The man (that’s what he was now, as determined as he seemed to prove otherwise) was much more expressive than she’d previously thought, evidently. His eyes rolled as he digested her question. _…You know, I figured that Saffron City’s Gym Leader would be a little more… knowledgeable._

 _No explanations, then._ Personal insults hardly had an effect on her, really. She’d known enough to where they all sort of blurred together, the truly biting no different from the feeblest of affronts.

 _Not if you don’t deserve them._ Some part of him seemed to regard this as something like a twisted game.

It, she decided, was the most annoying part of Silver. _I’ll tell her you came here of your own volition. Will see if I can’t get you set up with something. She’ll press you, probably, so stick to that story. I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t cause too much trouble in the meantime._

 _Yes, mother._ Truly, there was no end to his utter sarcasm. It’d serve him well here: no doubt he’d be able to hold up under pressure, so long as he kept his defiant attitude.

She closed the link as she heard footsteps, and turned just in time to see Minotaur re-enter the room, smile as wide as it had been when she’d left, as distrustful of Sabrina as ever. She muttered some words to her as they passed, but they got lost in the static she brought with her, mewling bastardizations of the natural order singing their terrible songs. Briefly, she thought, she’d have a go for her card like she had had on her first day there, would have ‘checked up on her credentials’, but she did nothing of the sort, and Sabrina was free to roam the sprawling base, thirty minutes of time to kill before she’d inevitably be summoned to the main hall to listen to whatever their supreme leader had decided to prattle on about now.

Naturally, that was precisely when the phone call came through.

* * *

“If I’m being honest here? No idea how they managed to get her to return any of their calls.”

Conversations with Karen, Koga had long since learned, were generally inane, humbling, and not worth the effort. He got sucked into them anyways, of course, as she was the kind of person who could probably pass as a social black hole if given enough time to change her wardrobe, but he could at least be unhappy about it. It wasn’t much, but it massaged his wounded pride, and with so few other options when faced with her insufferably smug voice, it’d have to do.

Their little group had taken a rest before making their next move, having decided that any excursion inside the reservoir was not yet worth their time, not unless they could pull more allies to their side. Perhaps that didn’t fully explain why the bug catcher, the hanged man, and his daughter had formed a bizarre sort of summoning circle lined with bent spoons around his phone, but he doubted anything could, really. (He’d thought the circle was some form of witchcraft, when they’d first set it up. Given who they were attempting to contact, it probably was.)

“But, y’know, credit where credit’s due,” and he could barely hear Karen’s voice over the excited whispering of the group in the circle, “They managed to get it done. I’m almost impressed. Almost.”

The familiar sound of his ringtone (a high whistle, one only dogs or trained ninjas could hear) offered salvation from the silver-haired woman at his side, and before long a familiar, if faint, voice echoed across the room.

“Can you make this quick, Koga? I’m running an errand.” Not fifteen years ago, it’d be impossible to know she was so much as asking a question. Not ten, and there might be some hint of enthusiasm in the voice, something to liven up the cold, detached tone in it.

“Sabrina!” Bugsy, it seemed, could hardly restrain himself, whispering into the microphone excitedly.

“…You’re not Koga.” Ah. So she was wholly unprepared for this eventuality. Good, this meant he had a partner in suffering.

“Okay, listen. You’re probably very busy right now, yeah, but we really need your help.” Janine took over, and her father couldn’t help but be startled by the level of concern in her voice, the distress evident in her every move. “Someone’s been out murdering people near Ecruteak. They were probably responsible for Eusine’s death, a-and Falkner’s been _shot_ …” She trailed off, before recollecting herself, and Koga was pretty sure it should have hurt him more than it did to see his child so vulnerable. “We need to figure out who did this. You’re our best bet for doing so.”

Silence. Bugsy had already begun fidgeting in his seat by the time Sabrina next spoke. “I’m sorry…”

“You’re _what?_ ” Morty and Bugsy still looked hopeful, but Janine’s voice turned dark, and she knew what was coming, she had to.

“As I said, I’m running an errand right now. I’m on League Business right now, resolving the mess we’re in, and I simply don’t have the time to—“

“You don’t have the _time_ ?” Janine, for as long as she’d lived, had been one to anger easily. But Koga couldn’t quite recall seeing his daughter like this, flames dancing in her eyes, pure furor escaping her mouth. “You don’t have the fucking _time_ to help us? Oh, I’m sorry,” And she was hyperventilating, shaking with rage, “Forgive me for thinking the _murder of a goddamn Gym Leader_ was reason enough for _getting off your goddamn ass!_ ”

The voice on the other side of the line wavered. “I ask you, please do keep as quiet—“

“To _hell_ with keeping quiet. Falkner is dead. Eusine’s _been_ dead. We have no idea why they were killed, or who their killers were. _Pull your head out of your goddamn ass and help us._ ” If she was yelling before, she was disturbingly calm now. From experience, Koga knew that just meant she was even more upset.

Sabrina was rarely cowed, that he knew, but even she seemed to pause before she responded. “I… I’m sorry, but I can’t help you at this—“

“Then _don’t_ , because you’re clearly not the person we’re looking for. I’m going to hang up now. When you’re finished with whatever _urgent_ business you’ve got planned, I want you to return to your sorry excuse for an apartment, sit back, and, for once in the sad mockery of a life you have, _think about what you’ve done_. Good. Bye.” She hung up before she could get a response, then took a moment to pause.

Bugsy was the first to go after her. “Hey… I know she was kind of rude there, but don’t—“

“How are you going to finish that? Don’t _worry_ ? Don’t _take it personally_ ? Unlike you,” And from his seat in the circle Morty shared a look with Koga because they both knew what was going to happen, “I don’t have the _luxury_ of not _giving a shit!_ ”

She wound up, and, with a horrible screech, threw the phone across the reservoir. It cleared the entirety of its length, slamming into a tree on the other side of the lake and shattering into several dozen pieces. Her work done, Janine stalked off into the forest, brushing off Bugsy’s attempts at comfort.

“If you need me,” She eventually muttered, “Don’t come looking.” And as she disappeared into the trees, leaving a heartbroken bug catcher, a depressed oracle, and an impressed fashionista in her wake, Koga knew that if he was a better man, he’d have followed her.

* * *

The lighthouse in Olivine was much like every structure in Johto, really. It had a use, yes, but it definitely prioritized form over function, and it showed in every aspect of the structure, from the floors at the bottom that could be mistaken for shop interiors to the faint light meant to serve more as a comfort to the residents of town than as a beacon for those entering the city by sea.

It was only when one went to other regions, really, that they were able to properly recognize how _strange_ that was.

Jasmine had been raised in Johto, yes, and she had lots of ties to the regions, but she’d always been a bit of a wanderer. It was easier to list the regions she hadn’t paid visits to, now, after paying visits to places as far-off as Kalos and as close to home as Kanto. And none of those regions, not even frivolous, beautiful Kalos, had been so daring as to put a Gym office inside a lighthouse.

Maybe it was a sign of insanity on Johto’s part. Actually, it probably was. But if it was insanity that spurred that decision, then she’d have to look into contracting such herself, because administering the goings-on of a city was a lot easier when one’s window had a bird’s eye view of it.

Now wasn’t the time for idle ruminations, of course; there was paperwork to fill out, plans to nurse to fruition, and an Ampharos to give headpats to. But Jasmine figured she may as well allow herself that luxury. Wouldn’t do to overwork herself, not at a time like this.

Then again, she thought, it’d probably prove prudent to check on the crux of their planning at some point.

She hadn’t dialed Silver’s number much during his league days, what with how utterly antisocial he was back then, but she’d at least managed to ensure that she had the number, and assuming he hadn’t switched his Pokegear in for a newer model by now, she’d be able to contact him with ease. He’d probably be returning home by now (the sun _was_ setting, after all), and even if he wasn’t, it’d be easy enough to explain away.

And, really, a little extra caution never hurt in situations like this.

As she tapped the name she’d given him on her device (Blue’d long since aged out of edgelord status, and she found Silver a worthy successor to his title) the familiar sound of a dial tone greeted her ears. So he hadn’t trashed his Pokegear the instant he found a newer model. Good to know.

Then, mid-tone, the sound stopped, and a scratchy, malevolent voice came through the speakers.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” It wasn’t hard to jump to the worst of conclusions after that manner of greeting. “You know, we were going to try to force some info out of the kid,” And even from miles away Jasmine could hear the woman smirk as she spoke, “But, hey, looks like you’ve saved us the trouble. You his girlfriend or something?”

Even when confronted with a situation rapidly going sideways, Jasmine had standards. “No.”

“Hm. Smart choice. Then again, with your particular brand of idiocy,” And oh, how she’d made a mess of things, “I could see the two of you being an item. I wouldn’t worry about him even if you were, though.”

She coughed into the device, then whispered into the microphone as she next spoke, predatory tone underlining her words. “After all, you’ll be joining him soon.”

If Jasmine were to compile a list of things she disliked about this woman, the sound of her laughter would be one of the first items on it. It was an ugly, ugly thing, chilling her to her very core as the woman hung up, the very present threat of… whatever it was they were going to do to her seared into her mind.

But, then again, she was built of sterner stuff than most.

The picture on her desk was meant to be nothing more than a memento. The frowning blonde and smiling redhead pictured therein where friends, yes, but they’d never once set foot in Johto, and she didn’t expect them to.

However, just this once, they’d probably excuse her for this sort of thing.

“Hello, Volkner? Yes, well, there’s a lot to explain…”

* * *

Having had a taste of how those without psychic abilities lived, Sabrina muttered apologies to all the people who’d had to put up with her as a child. That experience, she thought, was one not worth reliving.

Her membership card left unattended on one of those small tables she’d never quite learned the name for, she hunched over the closest thing she had to a dining table she had in her house, seat scooted in as far as it could go as she downed what was probably the last of her wine bottles. She hadn’t expected that.

She didn’t know _what_ she expected, but she hadn’t expected _that_.

The meeting was, all told, rather uneventful following the phone call she’d just had. More relentless grandstanding by the person at the podium. More ridiculously cult-like behavior. If it hadn’t been for the creature perched on his shoulder, she’d have fallen asleep midway through.

She’d never interacted much with Falkner. They’d brushed shoulders a few times, yes, and she could recall him seeing a movie of hers once upon a time, back in Driftveil. But she had to resist the urge to scream when she finally put two and two together, realized that the curious hybrid at the man’s side wasn’t just a bastardization of a Pokemon.

Recollecting herself didn’t come easily after that. If they weren’t suspicious of her before then, they sure as hell were now.

And the way she reacted when she returned to Silver’s cell only to find him not there and some odd, ugly _thing_ in his place must have sealed it.

She sighed as she tapped her fingers on the desk, the rhythm as discordant as that of her thoughts. She couldn’t go back, not after _that_ , but she’d have to if she didn’t want to end up with her head on a pike or worse. No doubt they were keeping watch on her, of course, and staying that close would only make her more likely to suffer the same fate as the man she’d been interrogating not eight hours before, but at this point that was a matter of when and not if and she’d need as much time as possible. Social interaction was hardly her strong suit, but she’d need to contact the Elite Four about the situation as soon as she could, would need to figure out who would run Saffron in her place, would need to—

Answer the door. The knocking was derailing her train of thoughts.

It was only when she’d opened it that she remembered that she’d invited Erika over for their weekly prowling of the bars in the city that night.

“Ah, Sabrina? Did you go somewhere today?” She was still in work mode, that she knew, but Erika looked positively radiant even in chains, and for a moment time seemed to stop, Sabrina’s worries melting away like snow on summer roofs—

But then her heart beat again, and they all came flooding back, the executioner’s axe once more assuming its familiar position above her neck. “You could say that,” She replied, eventually.

“Mm. You did look rather stressed.” Erika let herself in, stepping gracefully inside the apartment that Sabrina had long since deemed unworthy of a woman of her caliber. She generally read other people’s thoughts without a care, their feelings on the matter utterly unimportant, but she’d never once dared to venture inside Erika’s head. It felt _wrong_ , somehow, in some intrinsic way, and she never needed to anyways, not after having been around her so long. And it allowed the woman in the kimono to let down her walls, too, and the rush she felt when Erika left her privy to some information of hers, the comfort she got when she revealed her own to the woman, was at both wholly unlike her and something she never wanted to give up.

Ah. Right. She had a conversation she was a part of. It was easy to forget, around her. “Stressful is certainly a word I’d use to describe it. But,” And at Erika’s concerned glance she knew she had to hurry, "Don’t trouble yourself over it. It’s something I had to do.” _And largely my own fault_ , she thought, but she silenced that thought before it came tumbling out.

“Just remember that there’s no shame in letting someone else handle things,” Erika replied, but, mercifully, with that she dropped the subject. If there were gods in this world, Sabrina thought, they were clearly favoring her. “I think I’m going to go change now,” Her companion said, looking at her with a sly smirk on her face. “This kimono is starting to chafe.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Sabrina responded, smiling back. She paused before asking her next question. “Do you want to bring anything with us today?”

“The hardest stuff you have, maybe? After all,” She noted, gesturing to the empty bottle of wine at the table, “You probably have a lot to forget.”

“You know me too well.” She wasn’t being truthful, not really. If she was being honest, she wanted Erika to know her even better.

As she’d suspected when she’d plucked that last wine bottle from the shelf it had been resting on for time immemorial, there were few spirits left among her possessions. Luckily, what she did fine fit Erika’s description to a T — two bottles of vodka, both completely untouched. Maybe slightly suspect in terms of quality, but they’d do well enough.

And then she walked back into the foyer, and she knew, immediately, that she’d fucked up beyond all repair.

Erika was still in her kimono when she re-entered, which should have been proof enough of her _stupidity_ , but she just had to open her damn mouth anyways, because around anyone with sentience all her poise and ability just went out the fucking window. “What is it?”

And, slowly, her head turned, tears in her eyes, the membership card she’d left so carelessly on the table staring her in the face, her own blank expression glaring back at her.

It was hard to tell if she’d spent a second or an hour just sitting there, mouth on the floor, before her seals broke and her words came stumbling out of her mouth with all the trained ease and grace of a set of unruly elephants. “I-I can explain, I—“

“I didn’t know.” The walls were back up, and Sabrina couldn’t remember ever feeling more helpless in her life. Erika turned toward the door, face unreadable, that cool, calm expression she always wore around people she didn’t want to speak to etched upon it. “I’m sorry.”

She screamed her name, screamed until her voice was hoarse was with the effort, until she could barely so much as sob, but when Erika left she never so much as turned back, shutting the door and locking it with practiced ease.

Earlier, Sabrina had been dreading the fall of the axe upon her head, that final punishment that would break her once and for all, turn her into something else entirely. Now, a broken heap on the floor of her sterile apartment, tearing her card apart as if it could undo everything she’d done, she yearned for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by LonelyRollingStar


	11. Sabrina, No!

Morty immediately started walking, leaving Bugsy to scramble out of his way.

“Where are you going?” Bugsy asked.

“After her,” Morty looked off in the direction of the forest.

“I-I can come,” Bugsy stammered.

“This is between Janine and I,” Morty replied, “so, no.”

Morty used his hand to motion for Pidgeot to join him, and two members of the revenge party went to follow their third.

Koga wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew that if anything would help it would be holding back the bug catcher by his sleeve and shaking his head when the boy tried to follow anyway.

Stumbling through the foliage, Morty followed Pidgeot’s lead in tracking Janine. A pursuit was had into the woods, and as they came upon a clearing, they stopped. Janine had, too.

“Janine,” Morty called out. “Stop.”

Janine whirled around to face the duo. “I’ve already stopped. What do you want?”

Morty wavered. “I came to talk about Sabrina.”

“What do you want to say about that <em>bitch</em>?” Fury poured out in every word.

“She said it was league business, right?” Morty glanced around, trying to find some way to put this. “She might have meant that she couldn’t at the mo—“

“I don’t care about whatever she was doing ‘at the moment’! Falkner is gone!” Janine shook. “You should understand! You lost your boyfriend too!”

“Too...?” The possibility that anyone he knew other than the Elite Four could be anything but gay had never occurred to Morty.

“What they did... Splitting up you and Eusine... Falkner and I... You know, they found Silver’s Typhlosion with a hybrid in Mahogany after he went missing. How do you think they feel?”

“Wait, Silver’s missing too?” Morty watched Pidgeot visibly shudder at the mention of the edgy redhead. “Didn’t Pryce send him to investigate—“

“How do you know about Pryce but not what happened to Silver?” Janine asked. She shook her head as if to clear it of this tangent. “They’ve taken three of us. They’ve threatened Jasmine.”

Morty froze. They weren’t scared of Jasmine?

“<em>What the hell is Sabrina doing?</em>” Janine’s voice had achieved new heights.

Morty let out the breath he realized he’d been holding. “Janine, let’s go to Saffron City.”

“Why? She won’t listen.”

“She’ll listen to me,” Morty knew the perfect blackmail: Erika.

“You still want her help?”

“Janine, you know that there’s things she cares about more than anything.” Morty tried to come up with an example. “When Falkner was still... If he was in trouble, and you heard that, say, Erika was dead, what would you care about more?”

Janine was silent.

“Sabrina has someone like that. Three people have been taken, right? If anything’s happened in Kanto, well...”

“...It’s not that far from here,” Janine admitted. “I... I see. They’re not safe, are they?”

“Give her a chance,” Morty replied. “We need to know what she knows. Maybe she’ll change her mind if we see her in person...”

Janine’s expression filled with guilt. “...Let’s go.”

“For Falkner?” Morty cut in.

Janine looked up. “...For Eusine, too.”

“Geot!” Pidgeot chimed in.

* * *

Pryce heard the familiar ring only once before his hand shot to the phone. “Yes?” It was a call from a gym leader at a time not between 10 PM and 9:30 AM, which were his active hours. That meant it was important.

Jasmine’s voice flowed over the line like cold steel. “Please mark Team Chimera as our prime suspect.”

“They already are, we sent Silver to be sure.”

“I called Silver’s cell.”

“What did he say?”

“Another woman picked up.” Jasmine answered.

“A woman?” Pryce’s tone rose a little. “Spicy.”

“She said that her group captured Silver and interrogated him.”

“What?”

“She also said that I was next.” Jasmine’s voice was unnervingly calm.

“Fuck!” Pryce nearly dropped his PokéNokia.

“I already called Volkner for backup.”

“To ask him to come to Johto?”

“He made it clear he’d prefer I come to Sinnoh, especially if I’m a target,” Jasmine sighed. “But I don’t intend to run.”

“I know you don’t...” Pryce muttered. “You never would.”

* * *

It was deep into the night by the time the daring duo arrived in Saffron City by train. It was brighter than Morty was used to; while Janine had the luxury of living in Kanto under normal circumstances, Morty was nearly blinded by the 24/7 nature of this city, truly deserving of the title with a bustle even this late at night.

After all, Ecruteak City was candlelit, and their electrical infrastructure was aged and deteriorating at best.

They rounded the corner onto Sabrina’s street— Kanto’s Gym Leaders could afford actual houses— and Morty held out an arm to stop Janine, which she ran into full-force.

“Hey, what was that for?” Janine snapped.

“Something’s wrong.” Morty felt a force from down the block. A psychic force nearly out of control. A force of grief and regret. “Something’s really wrong.”

Janine looked at Morty wide-eyed. “Really... wrong?”

Morty tried to hide his anxiety. <em>They weren’t safe in Kanto.</em> Was Erika...? “Let’s go.”

Janine shook herself out, pretending that she’d been reassured by Morty’s show of non-fear. “Y-yeah.”

They picked up their pace, almost into a run, and skidded to a stop at Sabrina’s door. The emotion flooding out through every crack created an immense pressure that made it hard for Morty to breathe. It was moments like these that Morty was surprised that most people couldn’t feel it at all. He knocked a couple times, and there was no response.

Janine quickly pulled a hairpin out of her hair and knelt down next to the door.

“What are you doing?” Morty asked, lifting up the welcome mat.

“Picking the lock?”

Morty pulled a key out from under the mat. “No need. Sabrina and I are friends, remember?”

“What?” Janine looked stunned. “That’s not something—“

Morty sighed, unlocking the door. “Whatever you’re thinking about the two of us, stop. Sabrina doesn’t need that right now.” He pulled the door open, looking into the first floor. The couch-bed had been pulled out but not made, and Sabrina was curled up into a ball on top of it, shaking and crying.

“Sa—!” Morty put a hand over Janine’s mouth, though he knew that wasn’t making her any more quiet in Sabrina’s ears.

“Sabrina.” He stepped closer, closing the door behind Janine. “What happened?”

There were only muffled sobs as Sabrina drunkenly cried into her arms.

Morty motioned to Janine not to move or touch anything, and sat down on the mattress next to Sabrina. “Hey. Talk to me.”

Between two noises that sounded like choking, Sabrina wheezed, “Erika, she...!”

Morty’s heart sank. There was a fourth? “What happened to Erika?”

“She left me!!” Sabrina cried. “She left me...”

Never before had Morty witnessed such utter misery except in his own mind.

Janine made wide-eyed eye contact with Morty, obviously now jumping to the conclusion Morty’d had since the street corner.

Morty knew Sabrina was never one for euphemisms. “She left you? Why?”

Sabrina curled up tighter.

Morty dropped his question and wrapped his arms around her frail frame. “Shh... It’s okay, Sabrina.”

Sabrina wriggled out of it partway and Morty let go. “It’s not okay! She hates me... She knows...”

“Knows what?”

“I can’t tell you,” Sabrina’s voice shook, and she read Morty’s mind before responding, “and I’m not drunk enough to spill anything about that stupid card.”

“Card? What card?” Morty kept his thoughts quiet.

“The membership card.”

“Membership?”

“Ugh!” Sabrina buried her face again. “With Chimera! That card! She saw it, and she knew, and— Oh, Arceus, now you know, too!” A wail rang out from her throat. “You’re gonna hate me too...!”

“Of course I don’t hate you,” Morty patted Sabrina on the shoulder. “I couldn’t hate you.”

“But <em>she</em> does.”

At that, Morty looked up and realized that Janine was badly concealing an expression of disgust.

“You have every right to,” Sabrina moaned. “I let them... I let terrible things happen... Terrible things... Erika hates me, now...”

“Erika doesn’t hate you.” Morty murmured.

“I’m not overreacting, Morty,” Sabrina smeared more eyeliner across her face. “There’s a fine line between love and hate...”

Morty sighed. “I’ll talk to Erika. But first, I need the whole story. Chimera?”

“Team Chimera,” Janine cut in. “They’re an underground group like Team Rocket. They mash up Pokémon of different species and make these horrible hybrids.”

“They’re the ones who do that?” Morty glanced between Janine and Sabrina.

“You live in Ecruteak City. It makes sense you wouldn’t know...” Janine stepped closer, almost aggressively. “No one in Ecruteak would get involved.”

“Yeah, since they’re all busy making pottery,” Sabrina uncurled a little, hiccuping, “I’ve been working as a mole... Their behavior changed, so I started to investigate why, in case they’ve got worse plans. They’ve been kidnapping people, and—“

“Killing people? People like Falkner?”

Sabrina shook. “I still can’t... What happened to Falkner...”

“You’ve been a mole? For who?” Morty’s gentler tone broke up the conversation.

“The league.”

“Okay.” Morty stood up.

Sabrina cast a dejected look at Morty as he walked away to the kitchen.

Janine started moving towards Sabrina, and Morty stopped her with a threatening glare. He returned with a glass of water. “You’ve had too much to drink, I can tell. How many, what kind?”

“Vodka.” Sabrina started to try to chug the water, failing miserably and spilling an amount on her shirt.

Morty glanced at the table, where she was looking, and saw what looked like a newly opened bottle half-empty. He winced at the sight of it. “Ooh, that’s a lot. You’re gonna need about four glasses, at least.” He looked at Janine. “We’ll fix things with Erika in the morning, won’t we?”

Morty’s protectiveness over Sabrina was tangible to Janine. “Y-yeah.”

“Drink more water after I’m gone, okay?” Morty took the glass, poured out what was left in the sink, and refilled it before returning it to Sabrina. “We’ll be back in the morning.”

“St—“ Sabrina restrained herself. “Okay...”

Morty suddenly felt immense guilt. “If you want us to—“

“No,” Sabrina tried to imbibe more water, face hot with embarrassment, “Go.”

* * *

Silver opened his eyes, making out the blurry outline of cage bars. His stomach felt tight, and his whole body was cold. He was freezing. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep; he felt so sleepy... N-no! He forced his eyes fully open and scrambled to push himself onto his feet. His hands, hard and smooth as they were, slid on the ground, as did his feet, and just as he managed to get onto all fours his strength gave out.

A curious face stared back at him from outside the bars. “Hey, you! You’re finally awake!”

“Ugh...” Silver’s face, chin lying on the ground, glared up at the strange creature watching him from outside the cage. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Falkner.” When Silver looked confused, he added, “We battled ten years ago over the Zephyr badge? At the Violet City Gym.”

Silver would stiffen if not for his body already feeling like cement. “I’m sorry, <em>who</em>?”

“Falkner.” Falkner glanced down at himself. “Sure, I’ve got a makeover and all, but you should at least recognize me. Sabrina did!”

What the actual <em>fuck</em> was he talking to. Silver braced to try and stand again, finding that his body just wasn’t cooperating.

“Hey...” Falkner glanced around. “You okay?”

“No.” Silver growled. “I feel awful, nothing feels—“

“Normal?” Falkner chuckled a little. “Take a look at yourself.”

Silver realized that his hands had been replaced with massive claws, and his whole body was black with reddish stripes. A feathers fanned out around his neck, and two more poked out from the sides of his face. “Weavile...!”

Falkner smiled. “I was the same way when I woke up. Then I talked to Dr. Griffon, and I realized that it’s better this way. I can finally be useful. Don’t you want to be useful?”

Silver pushed against the ground to back away from the abomination he faced. “...You’re not Falkner.”

“Of course I am!” Falkner got a little defensive. “Of course I... Wait, are you shaking?”

Silver shook his head no, even though his entire body shivered violently with the cold.

“Oh, jeez, uh, you’re sick, aren’t you?” Falkner glanced behind him again, and Silver realized there must be someone there watching. “Dr. Griffon said that she’d never used an ice-type in one of these fusions before, and that I should watch you in case you wake up sick. Do you... Do you feel cold?”

“What do you think?” Silver snapped, trying to get up again.

“I’ll go get Dr. Griffon. You’ll like her. She’s really nice.”

As Falkner scampered off, Silver crawled over to the bars. There was definitely a sizable gap between them... The question was whether or not it was wide enough for him. Silver pulled on the bars, trying to squeeze through the gap. Damn. Too small. It had looked big enough, too... If he was stronger, he might be able to break one and escape—

Falkner reentered the room accompanied by a woman of shorter stature. She had curly purple hair and wore her lab coat loosely over a tight button-up shirt and slacks— she simultaneously pulled off “mad scientist” and “Pokémon breeder” behind her square-rim glasses. She stretched up on her tip-toes to give Falkner a pat on the head. “Good boy. He’s cold?”

Falkner gave an exaggerated nod.

Silver nearly retched in disgust. What a lapdog.

The woman sauntered over to the cage, kneeling down next to it. “If he escapes, he’ll only hurt himself.”

Falkner nodded. “Whatever you say!”

“Yes,” the woman continued, “would you mind making sure he can’t do that?”

“Of course!” Falkner adjusted his wings. The bird-man gave Silver a concerned look. “I don’t want to see Silver hurt...”

Silver’s eyebrows were raised. Falkner didn’t want to see <em>him</em> hurt? What did they have him on?

“Silver...” The woman made eye contact with the Weavile-hybrid, “I see frost on you. I’m going to open the cage and get a better look at what’s wrong. My name’s Dr. Griffon. You’ll feel better soon...”

“Why leave me like this?” Silver asked as a lock was undone and a side of the cage slid into the wall, leaving an opening. “You’ve done something to Falkner, obviously.”

“Oh, are you asking why I haven’t already convinced you to join us, the way we convinced him?” Griffon exchanged a smile with the ex-Gym Leader. “He won’t complain if something’s wrong. Ice-type hybrids are often... Volatile, if I’m honest.” She sized up Silver, observing the frost that was forming on his short fur. “Their powers often go out of control if we’re not precise enough... It can take a couple times with Pokémon like yours.”

Silver tried to get up again, wishing he was able to fight this lady off.

Griffon looked thoughtful. “It’s just as bad with psychic, fire and electric types...”

“So what? You’re just gonna keep experimenting?”

Griffon chuckled. “Yes! Isn’t that exciting? The next time you wake up, your body might be much more powerful...” She approached Silver, trying to lift him to his feet. He struggled, and nearly knocked Griffon over as he wriggled out of her grasp.

“Not if I can help it.” Silver prepared himself to start moving despite the uselessness of his limbs as of late.

“Falkner?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Help me take him to the lab.”

Silver didn’t stand a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by ClariseTG.


	12. Something Ventured, Something Lost

If she was ever going to poison herself with the fumes of her car, then it was going to be now. Unintentionally, of course, but she’d long since grown used to a baseline standard of incompetence when it came to just about anything, so such hardly shook her.

She’d had the sense to get a hybrid when she did go shopping for a car, yes, but the alleyway she’d stopped in was small and she’d long since run out of electricity. She’d apologize to the plants later, if anyone saw her. In public, of course. Then she’d be able to slip on her mask without having to worry about it.

She’d never considered these sorts of machines as hypnotic before, but this late at night she could say with certainly that they were. The steady, gentle hum of the running engine was like an aphrodisiac for the ears, the brutal steel cage she’d trapped herself in almost comforting in its confinement, the treacherously low-quality seats still tolerable enough in terms of comfort to serve as an acceptable cushion, all of them seemingly hell-bent on ensuring that she drifted off to a nice, lazy, permanent sleep. After all, she hadn’t turned the car off. She hadn’t been able to work up the energy to.

In a way, it was almost funny, in a macabre sort of sense. She, who had doomed so many trainers and pokemon with the joys of an unwilling sleep, on the verge of being offed by an exhaustion all her own. Ironic, was the way some would put it.

When it came to people she cared about, though, she’d only ever heard it described as tragicomic. (God, she had been just a useless drunk.)

The radio stations she had saved on her car were all various nigh-identical copies, each playing generically calming and soothing techno, meant to comfort rather than destroy. She hardly ever used any of them. Tonight, she was feeling especially dismissive of such.

It took her a while to fumble the knob over to a station which looked even remotely promising. There was some prattle about the news, prattle she didn’t particularly care for, and for a moment she feared that she’d made the wrong decision and that she’d spend the last vestiges of her strength fiddling with the most fragile knob in recorded history, but in time they made way and the sound of drums and steady synth beats began to reverberate around the interior of the vehicle, and she knew she’d made, for once in her life, the right decision.

When was the last time she’d listened to something she’d actually liked? Four days ago? Five? Certainly hadn’t been any time between now and her last attempt at forgetting about the world, albeit with company. Come to think of it, that’d put it at about a week. Ah, so the fumes are already getting to me.

The chorus hit, and in an instant she knew what she was missing. Filthy, filthy words clawed their way out of the singer’s mouth as he sung, the heavy, grating synth beat which could probably be more accurately described as a synth noise behind him making him into almost this sort of demonic saint. She sang along. Of course she did.

She hadn’t sung at all in the past week. Of course she hadn’t.

A distant police siren briefly interrupted her reverie, but it was just that, distant, unable to really disturb her or have much of an impact on her in any way. A familiar feeling, really. She’d distanced herself from the rest of the world for as long as she could remember. She distanced herself from friends, from inquisitive relatives. She’d even managed to distance herself from herself, which was at once both hilarious and depressing.

‘Tragicomic.’ There was that word again. If the dictionaries she’d read had endeavored to match every word up with one person, she’d probably end up with that.

The song switched, after a time. The next one wasn’t all that good, but she stayed on the station regardless. Too much effort to switch it. She was better off saving her energy for other things.

Speaking of which, maybe shutting off the goddamn car would be a worthy use for such. It wasn’t like she had all day to do so, after all, and as shitty as she felt she couldn’t exactly say that dying of carbon monoxide poisoning was an ideal prospect for her.

Erika sighed as she shut off the car nonetheless, however. At a time like this, being able to forget about the world, fall asleep, and never wake up sounded terribly appealing.

* * *

Stocking up on supplies had been awful the first time he’d done it.

He was only, oh, about twelve, then, and his gym trainers had all contracted an illness which he himself was luckily able to escape from on account of his being a slightly older child than the rest of them. It was hardly anything major, more common cold than anything else, but he’d had to venture inside Goldenrod’s famed department stores for the first time nonetheless, and he proved hilariously ill-suited to the role. When his list said salsa, he got guacamole. Where it said to buy cold medication, he got flu medication. He’d even managed to get a vaccine, at some point. It was terrible. Everything about it was terrible, and it had been six hours of terrible, stretching unbrokenly on from noon to night.

Time had made him slightly better at this sort of thing.

The cheery cashier at the counter practically fawned over him as he’d entered the store. Not unexpected. Most people thought he was more adorable than anything else, and at this point he’d just gotten used to it. Any trace of that demeanor was erased, however, when he showed up at the counter with five sets of scuba gear and oxygen tanks to match.

“What, you planning a diving trip or something?” Her brown hair was tied up, but not very well, and left him with the distinct impression of a dog, tail flopping in the wind.

“You could say that, I guess.” He shrugged, pulling out his wallet as he did so. He didn’t have a credit card. In his opinion, they were too complicated, hardly ever reliable, and unforgivably less tactile than bills and coins.

“Hm.” She glanced inquisitively at the gear for a moment, still not quite seeming to believe her eyes. “Pretty sure the magazines would have told me if a goddamn gym leader was going on vacation,” She muttered.

He knew better than to respond to that.

“Well, whatever. That’s… 100000 PokeDollars.” She seemed almost in disbelief as she spoke. “Jeez, you’re a lot richer than I expected.”

“I’m using a friend’s money.”

“Huh. Cool. Well, Bugsy, here’s your gear, and here’s your bag.” She seemed to consider her options for a moment. “Don’t be a stranger, ya hear?” She winked.

Bugsy was out the door before he could notice.

* * *

He’d been hoping to get back within the hour. Easily doable, given where he’d come from and what Pokemon he had on him, and almost necessary given the task they were going to embark on. In Karen’s words, it was a “calculated trip to liberate an area via judicious application of murder.” In Koga’s, a “stupid risk that will probably get us all killed.” He’d be more inclined to take him at his word if those hadn’t been the most words he’d spoken all day.

But he was getting sidetracked. He had to be back in, oh, twenty minutes or so. They probably wouldn’t get a better opportunity than this, and given the amount of time they had left before Arceus knows what happened to the man they’d been sent here to check up on, time was of the essence.

Those sounded like pretty good excuses, come to think of it, to use on the woman who bounced happily into his field of view right before he could lift off.

“Oh. Oh! Bugsy! I was looking for you!” He’d commonly been described as energetic, but he had nothing on Whitney, who seemed to treat the very concept of restraint with all the same care and respect she extended toward gym challengers.

“Hey, Whitney.” Still, he wasn’t exactly going to tell her to buzz off.

“Wow, what’s with all the scuba stuff? You on vacation or what?” Though, admittedly, he was getting pretty darn close to doing that.

“Not really. I’m actually running an errand for the League right now.”

At mention of the league, she seemed to perk up. “Really? So why the scuba gear? They going to fight Kyogre or something?”

“No.” He stopped, reconsidered a moment. “Well, uh, probably not. Maybe?”

“That’s not exactly encouraging, Bugs.” She gave a faux-pout as she spoke, but to anyone who didn’t know her it’d look like the real thing. Hell, it’d probably look like that to people who did know her. She was skilled like that.

“Look, all I’m saying is, it’s not out of the question. We’re kinda dealing with, uh, things we don’t really understand right now.”

“Hm.” Oh, no. Now she was thinking. If he hadn’t been convinced that the situation was deteriorating before, he definitely was now. “You know what that reminds me of?”

“What?”

“Team Rocket.” She gave something approaching a grin as she spoke, probably thinking she’d caught him.

“It’s not. Or at least, we don’t think so.” I mean, he wasn’t technically lying when he said that. Probably. Still a lot he didn’t know, after all.

“But it’s some kind of shady business, right? Come on, you can tell me!” Either she was blissfully unaware of her status as the worst secret-keeper in the region, or she didn’t care. Either way, he wasn’t going to tell her.

“I mean… not really. It’s kind of important.” A frown hit her features, a genuine one this time.

“Please? I promise I won’t tell anyone. Just let me help, okay?” Her words said one thing, but her voice said another. It was oddly… panicked? Probably not the right word for it, but he’d use it anyways.

“Eh… I mean…” This wasn’t a situation he was prepared for. Whitney wasn’t supposed to be anything other than cheery and air-headed. Or at least, that wasn’t how he remembered her.

“I just… let me go with you, okay, Bugsy? Let me go with you. I can help. Please.” She got quieter and quieter as she spoke, and after this he was going to look into when dementia’s earliest onset hit, because he couldn’t remember her ever being this desperate before.

The others had always said he was too kind for his own good. “…I guess. I mean, I don’t think anybody will object…”

“Thank you.” Another file in the ‘Surprising Things Whitney is doing’ folder. He half-expected her to glomp him when he relented, but she seemed strangely… calm, right now. Definitely grateful, but still very calm. Maybe even mature, as ridiculous a concept as that sounded when applied to Whitney. But then she was smiling again, and it looked like none of the past five minutes had ever happened. “You probably need to buy an extra set of scuba gear now, right?”

“Well… I’m not sure if Morty and Janine will be there, but if they are, then yeah.” He’d always assumed Whitney was somewhat emotionally healthy, but now it almost felt like he’d been staring at a mask the whole time, convinced it was her true face.

“I’ll pick one up from the store, then. They’ll probably give it to me for free, right?” And as she wandered off, ditzy and clueless as ever, Bugsy couldn’t help but wonder if she really believed what she was saying.

* * *

“No.”

To be fair, he probably should have predicted this sort of reception. From what little he knew of Karen and Whitney, they were hardly on good terms, and it took a minor miracle to so much as persuade Koga in his abilities, much less that of the girl renowned for her amusing levels incompetence.

Still, though. Nobody had any right to be that severe.

“Oh, come on. I won’t get in your way, and you won’t get in mine.” Around Karen, Whitney’s guard was very much up. Any trace of the level-headedness she’d displayed around Bugsy was long gone in the presence of the leader of their impromptu investigation.

“It’s not your getting in my way that’s the issue. I can handle that. Unlike you, I’m competent.” Whitney visibly stiffened at that. “Your problem is that you’re a) lame as fuck and b) damn near certain to fuck everything up if given the slightest opportunity.” Karen shrugged as she made her next point. “No offense, but that’s kind of a bad thing for our purposes? Actually, never mind. Offense meant.”

“Well, even if you don’t want me to, I’m going to follow you anyways. So you may as well keep an eye on me, right?”

“I’m not your goddamn babysitter. I’m pretty sure Koga is, though, so if you’re in the market for one…”

The resulting squeaks of indignance and mildly amusing verbal sparring was probably entertaining, but Bugsy had long since tuned out the conversation at hand. It was hard to share in the merriment, really, given what they were planning, given what had happened. Falkner and Eusine were dead or worse. Morty and Janine were missing, and probably on the other side of the region by now. Arceus knew what happened to Clair.

Everyone Bugsy attached himself to left him in the end. It didn’t bother him, not really — he knew his flaws. He wasn’t the kind of person who’d ever be able to hold someone’s attention for long.

What bothered him was how nothing he did seemed to help them.

He’d tried his best to help Clair, to allow her to reconnect people, and instead she gave him the cold shoulder and left more damaged than she was when she joined him. He’d watched Morty waste himself away in real time, and the only way he’d pulled himself out of the hole was by meeting someone even worse off. He wanted to help them, yes, to bring them out of the holes they were in, but it wasn’t working. He had yet to make a meaningful impact on anyone, beyond messing up people’s schedules and postponing their suicide attempts. Everyone was, largely, better off without him.

He didn’t understand Whitney. Not really, not truly, judging by their conversation earlier. But he knew she was hurting over something, and that if she ended up joining them on this (which, judging by Koga’s resigned look, seemed more likely by the second), he was the only person who’d be able to help her for a while. Koga was useless in that regard, and Karen was worse than useless.

He’d have to try. Even if it made things worse, even if he just exacerbated the problem, he’d have to try. For her, and for himself.

* * *

It was a perfectly idyllic morning when she woke up, the sun shining its mockingly bright rays over every inch of the city, not a cloud in the sky to block its glare.

How long had she been asleep for? Six hours? Seven? Turning on her car and catching a quick glance at the dashboard revealed it to be eight, which was probably the most she’d slept in the past month. Of course, it probably wasn’t high-quality sleep, coming in the front seat of a car more concerned with getting places in a reasonable timeframe than with the comfort of its occupants, but she’d have to take what she could get.

The events of the previous night hit her like a tidal wave, but she ignored them. She’d have to. She had work at nine, after all, and the gym didn’t run itself.

It took her a while to fish out her makeup kit from her purse, sleep-deprived as she was, but she knew she had no choice but to. Celadon wasn’t very far from here, but her routine tended to take a while, and given her state of disarray and the rapidly approaching opening time, procrastination was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

It was time to slip her mask back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by LonelyRollingStar.


	13. It Won't Rain on Wednesday

Pryce cast a worried look at his PokéNokia before standing up. It had been four days since Jasmine was threatened, and still nothing had happened. The case hadn’t evolved, and Pryce was kept on his toes. When were they going to strike? When would Volkner show up? Jasmine hadn’t said anything, but—

Pryce sighed, and reminded himself that Jasmine was far more capable than the average Johto gym leader. The bow she wore on the front of her dress wasn’t only for show— it contained a tracking device, and a button that would send out a call not only to the police of her area but to several of the other league members: Karen, Pryce, Morty, Chuck, Lyra, Blue, and a couple of the Kanto gym leaders she trusted. Pryce knew that if she were in danger, she’d push the button, and Pryce could be there in under an hour. After all, Delibird knew fly— Arceus knows why.

So, back to work. He had other responsibilities, after all.

Pryce stuffed the PokéNokia inside his coat and headed out. He intended to check the message board in town; recently, he’d heard rumors that a giant monster had been spotted nearby. No one had seen it directly, but people had found definitive proof; monstrous tracks, bent and torn foliage, the like. Now, everyone in town was worried that it was coming for their small tomato gardens. While Pryce was considerably more worried about Jasmine, Silver, and the like, he was still responsible for the well-being of Mahogany, and that meant quelling everyone’s fears by either defeating or disproving the monster.

The message board told a story: most of the sightings had been to the east, along the base of the mountains. It was north of the Ice Path, where the Tangela lived. Pryce chuckled to himself. At least one problem was simple— all of the disturbances he’d heard about could be explained easily by the activity of Tangela.

Rain began to fall.

Pryce shooed away some tourists— he didn’t need attention here, and anyway, they were clearly from Goldenrod— and trekked into the forest northeast of the Lake of Rage. He was too old to fear the wild Pokémon; when one approached, he warded it with a simple punch or slapped it away with the back of his fist. Finally, he saw it: a tree, snapped in half, with the top half carefully placed back on top of the stump. It looked accidental. Probably a trainer, one with a very strong Pokémon. Pryce hoped he might fight them one day, since he knew this couldn’t be Lyra— Lyra would never try to put the tree back together.

Then, he found tracks. They looked like Pidgeot tracks, but dug much deeper indentations into the loamy soil. Rainwater built inside the cracks, forming small puddles that disrupted the shape. Interesting, but not warranting as much worry as Jasmine. He glanced down at the pocket with his phone. Was she okay...? This region without Jasmine was like a Girafarig without its tail. It couldn’t function.

Pryce’s thoughts were interrupted by a purple and cyan flash before him. What? He looked in the direction it went off into. He couldn’t see it for all the trees... He blinked a couple times. Maybe he imagined it? No, something was definitely there...

* * *

Bugsy brushed a clump of wet hair out of his face, trying to keep the pouring rain out of his eyes. No one short of Whitney had an umbrella— Koga and Bugsy’s clothes hung limply off of them as they dripped with precipitation. Karen seemed to enjoy watching Koga grow increasingly resigned to the rain; she was wearing a bikini, after all, and seemed not to care that she was getting a little wet.

“Why did you want scuba gear?” Bugsy finally asked.

Karen cackled. “I wanted to see if you’d actually do it.”

As he realized he’d been played, Karen laughed harder at the shock on Bugsy’s face.

Karen paused to breathe before continuing, “You all want to know who took Morty’s gay crush and bird boy. I do too.”

Whitney practically flinched at “Morty’s gay crush.”

“I wanted to ask Silver, but apparently he’s not around,” Karen shrugged. “He would have been fun to tease. Anyway, I had to go looking for clues myself. Apparently the people who took ‘em are Team Chimera. You all heard of them?”

Whitney shook her head no, and Bugsy stiffened. “A trainer challenged me with one of their creations...”

Whitney turned to Bugsy. “Creations?”

Bugsy went even paler. “A combination of a Shinx and a Venonat.”

Whitney froze. “What...?”

“Save the explanations for later,” Karen interrupted. “I found some grunts. I ‘convinced’ them to tell me where their base is.”

“The list grows longer...” Koga muttered.

“Apparently their place in Goldenrod is a meeting place more than anything. Their real base is somewhere near here... Soon as he realized who I was, though, he stopped telling me anything and tried to run.” Karen shrugged. “So I stole his clothes and left.”

“You stole his what?”

“What?” Karen adjusted a bikini strap, sizing up Whitney. “It was his fault for taking them off.”

Bugsy tried very hard not to imagine anything, and changed the subject slightly. “So that’s why you had us meet at the Lake of Rage?”

“Yeah. Dunno where they’d be... This seemed like a good a place as any to start. I already looked around Mahogany, and I couldn’t find it in-town... Thought it might be in the wilderness.”

“Is that why you called me to get scuba gear? To search the lake itself?” Bugsy asked.

“Sure,” Karen shrugged. “You wanna go first, kid?”

Bugsy wiped more rain out of his face. “Uh, these clothes would probably drag me down in the water...”

Karen tipped her head. “You think I care? Just take them off.”

Whitney stared at Karen, wide-eyed.

Koga buried his face in his hands. “Don’t steal _his_ clothes, too...”

Everyone stopped when the sudden crack of ice rang out across the lake. Karen turned around. “Looks like something more interesting’s going on.”

“That wasn’t thunder...” Bugsy trailed off, eyes alighting upon the frozen spire that now rose from between the trees.

* * *

A light rain began to fall, and One smiled as Aipom buried itself in his mane. “It’s just a little water.”

Aipom was sure to let him know that it wasn’t a water-type.

One chuckled. “Okay. I’ll find somewhere a little drier than our usual place... Why did you even build your nest there? It seems like it rains pretty often here.”

Aipom didn’t offer a valid explanation, but sounded pretty indignant either way.

One took off, gliding elegantly over foliage and dodging between trees. How long had it been since he’d met Aipom? Nearly two weeks? They felt so long and so short at the same time...

Suddenly, One noticed it: a person. He picked up speed, bounding past as fast as he could and accidentally overshooting the location he wanted to go to. He skidded to a stop.

Aipom asked what had just happened, and One glanced over his shoulder. “I just saw somebody.”

A human?

“Yeah...” One paused, scrutinizing his muddy paws. “I...”

Aipom concluded that One must miss humans. After all, he’d been one for a very long time.

One couldn’t defend himself against that one. “But, what will they think when they see what I am?”

Dismissively, Aipom argued that they would just think he was a strange-looking Pokémon.

“Yes, but... Well...”

Aipom asked why he’d been hiding from humans. In its case, it was simple— to avoid capture, but One should have no such fear. So why was he avoiding the ever-present Mahogany town? Since the third day, he’d known it was there; he’d asked to look for it, and the two of them had looked into town from within the trees. One seemed to have such longing for something he’d left behind, so why was he avoiding it?

“Avoiding— Well, uh, I don’t think—“

One was cut off by an all-too-familiar, cracked voice. “You’re not a Pokémon, are you?”

One met eyes with Pryce, who stared at him with morbid curiosity. The trees seemed to curl in as panic rose in One’s chest, and his instinct was to feign inhumanity. “Meow?”

Pryce did a double-take between One and the Aipom now poking out of his mane, wiping water out of his face. There was an uncomfortably long silence.

Nervously, One looked to Aipom for support, which he did not receive.

“Ohohohoo!!” Pryce cracked and broke down laughing.

One shrunk back.

Pryce wiped a tear from his eye. “I’ve never heard a Suicune say ‘meow’ before.”

“Suicune?” One asked, realizing immediately after that he had sounded far too excited. “I’m not Suicune...”

“You don’t look like Suicune, no,” Pryce adjusted his scarf, “but you sure look similar.”

One fidgeted nervously. “I, uh...”

“I’ve seen a lot of wild Pokémon in my day, and you certainly don’t act like one,” Pryce continued. “Most don’t talk, either.”

One remembered the facade he’d attempted to maintain at first. “Awoo. Awoo awooo.”

Pryce snickered into his shoulder before his expression became grave. “Eusine, you don’t have to hide.”

One stammered a few incoherent, nervous consonants. “Th-that’s not my name.”

“Then who are you? You look on-brand for Team Chimera... Are you another victim we don’t know about?”

“I’m just a copy. You’ll have better luck with the real one,” One returned.

“There is no ‘real Eusine,’” Pryce sighed. “From Sabrina’s report, I get the idea that Chimera hasn’t been making new creatures. They’ve been using genetics from one creature to change another. That is, there’s no ‘copying,’ only changing...”

One felt his legs wavering a little. “So what you’re saying is... There’s no other Eusine out there, keeping Morty—“

“Oh, yeah, there isn’t.” Pryce sent a glance in the direction of Mahogany. ”Lyra says he tried to poison himself last week.”

One’s guilt turned into nausea and he felt bile build in the back of his throat. “What...?”

“I don’t know why you’ve been hiding,” Pryce ignored One’s reaction, “but you’re safe with at least one of us. Let us protect you. You have intel...”

One wasn’t listening. “Morty... You tried to... You— You...” He felt his legs begin to move almost without his direction. “Idiot— No...”

“Where are you going?” Pryce stopped him.

“Ecruteak City,” One answered. “Where I belong.”

Pryce grumbled something under his breath, then said, “Stay here. You need an escort and I can’t leave Mahogany.”

One shook his head. “I can’t leave Morty. I’ve been so ignorant... I left him, Pryce. I left him alone, and he’s suffering, and it’s all my fault. I cannot waste another moment.”

A third voice turned their dialogue into a trialogue. “Hey! I finally found you!”

One and Pryce both braced for battle, One’s leg muscles coiling like springs and Pryce reaching for his pokéballs, as they realized what towered over them.

Raindrops slid off of his brown and cream feathers. His hair dripped with water. His face had the recognizable black markings of a Pidgeot.

Pryce’s voice was faint. “...Falkner?”

It looked like Falkner, and it sounded like Falkner, but both One and Pryce knew that somewhere, deep down, something was very, very not Falkner.

There was a glint of malice in his eyes as he continued, “They want me to bring you back, Eusine...” His gaze slid to Pryce. “Sorry, old man, but I can’t have you knowing about this.”

In the blink of an eye, Falkner became a tawny blur, reappearing behind Pryce and slamming a beefy fist into the man’s head. One leapt back, fur standing on end as Pryce flew into a tree like a ragdoll. He felt the throb of his pulse pounding in his throat.

Falkner slowly turned to face One. “I don’t want to hurt you, Eusine. You’re my friend, and you’re going to be a coworker soon.”

“F-friend?” One asked, suddenly realizing how thin bones were. “Wasn’t Pryce your friend?”

Falkner paused for a moment, suddenly unsure. “Huh, I didn’t think about it like that.”

One backed up, his paw snapping a small twig and filling his mind with images of his own skeleton disassembled by the monster he faced. “Y-you’re not Falkner!”

“I am, though. I don’t get why everyone’s confused,” Falkner spread his arms in a beckon. “Come on, Eusine! There’s a better life out there! We’ll be useful!”

One could barely breathe. Every part of him was simultaneously screaming to run away and to stay as still as possible. He was paralyzed until a small voice rang out.

It was Aipom, and it cried out a single message: _fight!_

One rocketed into motion, taking off away from Mahogany, towards the west. “Not today, Aipom!”

Falkner spread his wings as One glanced behind him. For a couple of bounds, it seemed like the distance between the two of them was mounting. A heavy sweep brought Falkner’s wings to the loamy soil, and the bird-man rocketed hundreds of feet forward in an instant, surpassing his prey and blocking its path.

After a signal from Aipom, One knew what to do: he let instinct take control. Without thinking, he bounced to the left, evading a downward strike by a fraction of an inch. One saw the thick divot it left, and pushed himself to run even faster away from danger. Aipom clung on for dear life as One ducked around and through the wet underbrush. Every few bounds, it seemed, Falkner would catch up, and One would spent the next moment dodging a series of blows before changing direction again.

Falkner appeared before One once again, and One knew that he was closing in on his limit. He had to slow down Falkner somehow...

Aipom made an angry face, repeating its earlier advice.

Fight? How could he fight Falkner? He wasn’t an experienced fighter like his opponent was. Doubt crept in. He was just... One.

Falkner began to wind up a punch towards One’s center from above, and One started moving to dodge. What he didn’t expect was an uppercut, revealing that the first punch was a feint all along. One felt first the impact, then the spikes of pain throughout his body, and finally all feeling of gravity being flung straight up. It took a moment for One to register how high up he’d been sent; far beneath, One could see the outline of the Lake of Rage through the trees. One felt feathery arms wrap around him from behind, and while he struggled, the bird holding him in place was much stronger.

“Sorry about that,” Falkner apologized. “I’ll make sure they heal you once we get there.”

There was no other sound except the whistle of the wind and the rustle of Falkner’s feathers. Even the rattle of the now-drilling rain was silent.

It was now that One realized that it was just the two of them; Aipom had been knocked off with that last attack. He’d dragged that little monkey into all of this, and he’d abused its help for his own gain...

If there was anything that could motivate One, it was guilt.

The rain froze into ice as One felt cold fire build in his throat.

Falkner sensed the attack before it happened, loosening his grip on One and starting to throw him back towards the ground. One flipped over, facing the bird above him, and let loose just as he was propelled even faster than a free-fall towards the ground. The ice hit Falkner first, forming a cocoon around him, and spiraled down towards the ground. One landed on his back. More pain ricocheted through One’s skeleton, but controlled more by adrenaline than anything else now, he spotted Aipom, ran towards it, scooped it up in his jaws and ran like the wind. Behind him, the thin tower cracked in the middle, and the top began to slide off, positioned to fall. At top speed, One was already too far away to see or hear the spire’s demise when it happened. He knew Falkner wouldn’t be able to find him if he ran fast enough.

Unlike his last escape from Chimera, One knew where he was going this time. He had a boyfriend to save.

* * *

Bugsy stiffened, hearing a sickening crash and avian squeal as the top of the spire fell to the ground. “I think something’s inside of it!”

The rain thickened, coming down now in sheets and obscuring everything in a silver haze. There was a distorted, disappointed roar from the direction of the half-spire, and all four League members could see a blurry figure shoot out of the wreckage, hover for a moment, then dart off into the rain, not to be seen again.

Bugsy was the first to start moving, grabbing Whitney’s wrist and pulling her after him. “Come on! It’s our job to check these things out!”

By the time they arrived, there was nothing left but the mere traces of a battle. A zigzagging path of destruction, bent trees, and packed-down soil wound its way around the spire and further off. Bugsy’s breath fogged into the air, chilled by the rain and the ice. “Let’s follow it.”

“Why are we wasting our time here?” Karen asked.

“What if someone got hurt?” Bugsy asked. “I wouldn’t want to leave them alone.”

“Isn’t that Pryce’s job?” Karen glanced up at the spire. “If anyone saw what did this, though...”

Bugsy led the way down the path of destruction before he stopped dead. The sound of an alarm began to chirp feebly from within the blood-stained trench-coat. “No...”

Koga’s phone began going off as well.

Karen glanced over Pryce. “It’s about time.” Without another word, she walked over to Pryce, dug into his coat, and pulled out his PokéNokia. “Huh.”

“Is he... dead?” Bugsy murmured.

“No, just a concussion or something,” Karen looked over the stream of blood on Pryce’s face. “He won’t wake up for a long time, though, which I consider a victory.”

Pryce’s phone continued to ring. On-screen, there was nothing, except for the word “Jasmine” and a set of coordinates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by ClariseTG.


	14. Contacts Lists and Other Communication Cheat Codes

“Well, I, personally, have always been a firm believer in the path of Enlightenment.”

Having something akin to a theological debate while crouched behind the cover of a hotel room couch  _ probably _ wasn’t how Jasmine expected her week to culminate, but given how bizarre her life had been over the past, oh, four or so days, she wouldn’t have been surprised if she had anticipated it.

She’d never quite gotten the name of her newest pursuer, but his style of dress made obvious his inspiration, and right now she’d take every advantage she could get. She wasn’t the one with a machine gun in this exchange, after all. A little questioning, she hoped, was something she could be forgiven for engaging in.

“But  _ surely _ that doesn’t align with what you’re doing here, right?” Her makeshift barrier was becoming more and more transparent by the second.

“On the contrary. Enlightenment, as I see it,” and he punctuated his point with a quick burst of his gun that left Jasmine not for the first time thanking whatever gods she could find that she’d been born with a lithe form, “Is all about mindfulness. It’s about knowing the difference between your true self and false self.”

Not much time left, now, before one of those bullets found its way into her back. She’d have to be quick. “And your true self is a murderer?”

She darted out from behind her couch, trail of bullets following her as soon as they picked up and drowning out the monk’s chuckle. “Perhaps.”

She slid under the table, silently praying the mahogany wood would be able to resist the bullets for enough time to let her catch her breath. “You’re intentionally making this difficult now, aren’t you?”

“I don’t much like telling lies,” and a clicking sound echoed as he spoke, and, oh, he’d been  _ reloading _ , she probably should’ve stuck him in the shoulder while she had the chance. “So yes. Yes I am.”

The hail of bullets commenced once more, and, oh, yeah, definitely should’ve taken a shot at him while she was sliding.

Generally, when exposed to intense amounts of adrenaline, (this she knew because she’d been in far too many troublesome situations to count and would probably die of stress by age fifty as a result) your typical human will perceive time almost slowing down. Not by much, mind you, but enough to make actions on the fly, enough to where it’s clear that the mind is acting faster than it would otherwise. It’s only really saved for situations where there was a real sense of danger, of course, but it  _ is _ there, and is undoubtedly helpful.

Darting into the kitchen of the hotel room she’d been residing in, playing dodgeball with a madman with a machine gun, and feeling it all at a disappointingly breakneck pace, Jasmine could only wonder how badly she’d twisted her body’s defense mechanisms for its standards of real and credible danger to not include this.

“We can’t keep playing this game of cat and mouse forever, you know,” the monk said, and the infuriating thing was that he was right, as he so often was. Eventually, she’d run out of places to hide, and that’s when she’d be turned into a pin cushion or worse. She’d have to break the stalemate some time.

The counter she was, well, hiding behind held a pair of knives. Appealing weapons, yes, but it was unlikely she’d really have enough time to throw them, and given this man’s pedigree he probably wouldn’t care.

The taser in her pocket felt like a stone jabbing at her side, and it’d probably prove an effective solution to her problems, if she could just get within range to use it. She probably wouldn’t be able to.

The window was an appealing option, if she wanted to deny him the pleasure of taking her alive. She’d go back to it later.

“This has been fun, Miss… Jasmine, was it? But I’m afraid we’ll have to stop our little game now.” His laugh was as cruel as the rest of him, she noted, in the brief time between when her heart stopped beating and when it started again, startled to life by the telltale hum of his weapon.

Well. She’d wanted to go with the smartest option, here, but it seemed that for the moment she had only the crazy ones. Guess she’d have to settle for one of those.

She took a deep breath, and, jumping higher and faster than her frail body had ever allowed her to, vaulted out the window, smashing into the glass just hard enough to break it.

The monk’s squawk of surprise behind her was welcome, yes, but she had a more immediate threat in front of her, that being the sight of her city’s streets below her getting ever-closer. Thinking more with her heart than her brain, she reached out for the side of a nearby window and held on for dear life.

Every part of her body  _ ached _ when she did that, and surely she’d broken at least two or three bones, but she hadn’t really the time to ruminated on that fact as she skittered up the side of the building like a spooked cat, aiming to pull herself level with the window she’d jumped out of.

She got there just in time, watching the monk’s head poke out, praying that he wouldn’t turn his head mere millimeters to the left…

And when he uttered a small, filthy curse and walked away, Jasmine knew she was home free.

Well, relatively. If she ignored the broken bones, and her racing heartbeat, and the fact that her little stunt had left her bleeding out on somebody else’s windowsill.

Though she may have more closely resembled a pathetic, bloodied gargoyle than anything human, she wasn’t entirely devoid of her wits, so she bandaged her wounds as best she could and called for help.

The first number she tried was Pryce’s. Maybe a mistake, in hindsight, but she figured the old man would want to know the mortal status of one of his fellow gym leaders. It rang a few times, to no response, and she was about to hang up when someone who  _ clearly _ wasn’t the ice-type trainer elected to answer it.

“Yo,” the steady voice of Karen drawled as if she was the one to initiate the call, “Just thought you’d want to know that the old man brained himself on a tree, so he won’t be around to help you with whatever mafia business you’ve got planned.”

Shock wasn’t one of Jasmine’s favorite emotions, per se, but she was as susceptible to feeling it as any other. Not, of course, that she’d let it show in front of Karen. “…Aren’t you almost fifty years old?”

“That is a  _ very rude _ question to ask and so I will not answer it.” Though she played it cool, the voice on the other end of the line was clearly agitated.

May as well add to it. “Well, ah, I’m in a bit of a situation? I’m kind of bleeding to death because a monk tried to subdue me with a machine gun.” She doubted Karen had any liquid in her mouth, but it sure sounded like she was spitting out her drink. “You can ask Pryce about it, he’ll tell you why. I have some calls to make. Talk to you later, bye!”

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Whitney’s began to make something that resembled noise before she hung up, but she ignored it. Didn’t have the time to answer much more, unfortunately. She’d apologize later.

Well, time for the next number in her contacts list. Volkner probably wouldn’t be  _ happy _ with her, not really, but he’d help, and she wasn’t about to be particularly picky about which kind of help she received. (To be perfectly honest, she’d want  _ his _ help more than anyone else’s, but those thoughts were best left shoved into a locked box at the bottom of the ocean.)

She’d only just started calling it when she began to hear double. The distinct sound of two out of sync ringtones echoed through her ears, and at first she paid it no mind, believing to be little more than a symptom of the blood loss that was making itself clearly obvious on her now hopelessly-stained dress.

Then she was greeted with the sight of a flaming monkey’s head peering outside of the window she’d left out of, and oh, so that’s why that’d been happening.

“Infernape?” Flint’s prized pokemon seemed to almost jump when it saw her, doubtless bloodied to the point of being able to double as a horror show actor, but then it smiled a wide, cheeky smile, and gave her a thumbs-up before ducking its head back inside. (He always had liked her. Then again, he’d always liked just about  _ everyone _ , so she was hardly special.)

A split-second later, she was greeted with the familiar sight of a bright-red afro. “Jesus, Jasmine, is that you under all that blood?”

He’d been loud enough to wake everyone in the city, probably, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. “Last I checked, Flint, yes.”

“Huh. Wow, you really went all-out, didn’t ya?” Flint ducked his head back inside to the tune of concerned noises she recognized as belonging to Volkner, then popped it back out. “Hey, come inside, will ya? Volk’s not gonna tell you, but he’s real worried. ‘Sides, it’s probably cold as Snowpoint out there.”

Despite herself, she smiled at his attempt to mask his worry. “The cold is the least of my concerns right now, Flint, but I’ll happily take you up on your offer.”

It took nearly everything she had to undo her act of self-defenestration, and Flint and Volkner had to help her, but she made it back in nonetheless, and couldn’t help but feel oddly proud even as the blood seeped into the cracks between the kitchen tiles.

\--

When she’d burned her hand, she didn’t even flinch.

Janine was distraught about it, of course, fretting over the state of the two scorched fingers she’d touched to what Morty supposed was a makeshift waffle iron, but Sabrina was oddly calm even in the face of such pain.

Whether she was attempting to not be a burden or just that resistant, he didn’t know. If he had to hazard a guess, it was neither.

The outburst she’d had when they ran into her almost seemed a thing of fantasy, now, given how muted she was, how stoic and quiet she’d become. Superficially similar to the girl he’d tutored before the world had set fire to itself, maybe, but to him the difference between then and now was so stark that it almost gave him whiplash. Back then, she’d been quiet, sure, to a fault at times, but she’d at least been alive. It was clear to anybody present that she was human, at the least, able to feel and able to make others feel, bundled with all the general trappings of her species even if she was slightly better at bending spoons and rearranging silverware than her peers.

That wasn’t the case now. Now she was almost like a ghost, barely eating, barely perceiving, barely  _ functioning _ , and it felt so wrong and yet so  _ familiar _ at the same time.

Which, really, made sense, considering not two weeks ago he was the same goddamn way.

It hurt, sometimes. More most times, really, but he supposed he could be forgiven for this one understatement in the interest of proving a more dramatic point. He wasn’t reminded of him often, but he still felt the missing presence all the same, the lack of levity when he was proving his cynicism around others or in the way he felt so utterly out of his depth around the two younger trainers, both of them as broken and distraught as he was.

He’d never really bought that other half nonsense, not really, but now that it’d happened it certainly felt like he’d lost a limb or three and had been forced to carry on anyways.

At times he felt like succumbing, because of course he felt that way, of course he did, it was in his nature to look for the cowardly way out when he could find it. He wasn’t much of a fighter, but he was great and running, and the notion of running away from everything was one he found quite interesting. (If he could reunite with the one he’d lost, all the better. He didn’t really believe in an afterlife, not really, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain if he found himself among the dead and conscious yet.)

At times he felt like ending it, finishing his sad story here and letting someone else, someone more  _ qualified _ handle things.

Then he’d roll out of whatever nook or cranny he’d forced himself into and down a shot of that awful concoction that passed as coffee because he knew that the others had it a thousand times worse.

(He’d seen the way Janine fidgeted when she was sure nobody was looking, how she’d just start staring at nothing sometimes and need to be prodded back to the land of the living, how she’d stare at the card Sabrina’d left with fire in her eyes. He didn’t need to see Sabrina’s state to know how she was suffering, not when it could be characterized more by an absence than anything else. He’d been lucky, all things considered. It was hardly his place to wallow in pity, and yet he did it anyways.)

It was on a day with the dreariest kind of morning when he figured out that he’d need support if he wanted to help them, that he couldn’t really go on like this, the one-eyed leading the blind back home while lacking the depth perception to quantify how long the journey was going to take.

Well, he thought, dialing a number he’d never even bothered to call in his life, may as well knock out two birds with one stone.

Given how promptly she answered, Erika was either holding up better than he’d thought, or was  _ really _ good at masking how she felt about things. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi?”

“…Morty?” She seemed to lower her walls a moment as she recognized him, but it was like deleting a floor from a skyscraper more than anything else. The distinct sound of a throat being cleared came through the speaker, and without a further word the walls were back up and she initiated what he could only assume was her default ‘sympathetic’ response. “I heard about what happened to Eusine. I’m so sorry. If you ever need anything… feel free to ask.”

He grimaced. So she was holding up even worse than he’d thought, somehow. “Yeah, uh, thanks. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” He paused for a moment, seeing if she’d respond. Silence. May as well cut to the chase. “I heard about something, too.”

“What is it?” If she was at all curious, she didn’t show it in her voice.

“Sabrina.”

“…It’s nothing. None of your concern, at least.” Her tone was level, calm, but she was panicking on the inside, and he knew it.

“Look, just… talk to her, or something? I know it’s going to be hard, but—“

“I can’t.” Her voice remained dangerously monotone. “I do apologize, and I know it would help to do so, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Exasperated, the ghost-type trainer sighed into the mic. “You know she’s a mole, right? Or, well, was, but you get the point.”

“Yes.” Blunter, now, clearly hoping to end the conversation before it got any further.

“Then what’s the problem? Sorry for being so blunt, but—“

“I’m not good enough for her.”

Well. That was unexpected. “What?”

“She’s—“ she sighed, took a moment to collect herself, before continuing, voice on the verge of cracking. “I… I thought she was, at first. Working with them. I treated her so— so coldly, and I… I know I hurt her.”  _ No shit _ , he wanted to respond, but for once he held his traitorous tongue. “But I just… I can’t be around her. I don’t  _ trust _ myself around her. I betrayed her, really, and I’ve probably hurt her beyond words, and I just…” She was hyperventilating, and seemed to know it, letting herself calm down before finishing. “I know I’m going to hurt her again.”

“What do you mean?”

Her voice took on a dark tone. “I’ve always been quick to jump to conclusions. I know, one day, if I come back, I’ll hurt her even worse, and… And I can’t let myself be around her, really. I’m not good for her.” Quietly, she added, “She needs someone better than me.”

Morty was hardly a therapist. If anything, he was better placed as the patient in that particular dynamic, given how horrible he was at, well, people in general. It’d been a miracle Eusine ever so much as noticed him, let alone fell for him, given how, at his worst, he tended to dodge and deflect, dulling his daggers and denying his points until they were eventually forgotten about.

He couldn’t afford to do that today. “She isn’t speaking to us. She doesn’t notice us half the time, she’s barely eating, yesterday she burned herself and didn’t even  _ feel  _ it. She’s… I’m worried about her.”

When the voice on the other end of the line grew quiet, he pressed on. “I… I’ve been there. Believe me, I’ve been there. I always felt like he deserved someone better than me, someone who wasn’t as broken and twisted as I was. But… But there’s a reason they choose you, y’know? She… really likes you. It’s hurting her worse to have you not there. And I don’t think you could ever really hurt her in the first place.”

She paused before speaking again, and Morty knew there were tears in her eyes. “…How so?”

“Because you don’t want to. And she knows that.”

She wasn’t sobbing, not based on the noise, but her voice wavered anyways. “…Where is she?”

“Same apartment she always is. The two of you are going to have a lot to talk about, I think.”

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s fair, yeah.” He couldn’t really recall ever seeing her this vulnerable before, or this casual. Maybe he’d finally gotten past her walls. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Cool. I’ve probably got, like, fifty unread emails by now, so I’ll be clearing that out. But if you ever feel that bad again, talk to me, okay?” He couldn’t really trace why he was feeling so concerned for her, and yet he could, and yet he knew why. “I’ll always be here.”

“Okay… Thank you.” She hung up.

And, because whatever was in charge of the world turned upside down evidently had a flair for dramatic timing, it was only then that he noticed the text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by LonelyRollingStar.


	15. An Unexpected Visitor

One’s shoulders ached. Every time his paws hit the ground, he felt the impact there— his paws were too numb.

Finally, he recognized the area he was in. He’d tried to make his way to Ecruteak through the wilderness, and had been lost for far longer than he’d hoped.

Now, though, he could hear the familiar sounds of the city where Morty lived: angry old people,and the sound of instruments too ancient to be used anywhere else. He bounded forward, stopping just before the edge of the trees. He could see it now. He stopped, letting out a breath. That... That was Ecruteak. It looked the same as before, and it was _beautiful_.

Aipom slid off his back, bouncing in front of him with a concerned expression. Finally, he’d stopped, it said. Aipom thought he was pushing himself too hard.

With this, One remembered the aching pain in his chest, a result of his injuries in the fight. He was exhausted, too, after using such a powerful attack that hadn’t been in his native type. “I’m...” One suppressed a cough. His chest was tightening up again. “I’m fine, Aipom.”

He didn’t look fine to Aipom.

“...Maybe I’m not fine, but I’ll be fine once I see Morty.”

Yes. That was what he was going to do; Morty was probably at the gym, and One would go there, and they’d be together again, like they always— One glanced down, remembering that he was not only naked but a semi-quadrupedal abomination. “Can Morty see me like this?”

Oh, Arceus, Morty would be horrified! It wasn’t just that One had been turned into... this, since from the sounds of it any Eusine would do. No, One looked like he’d been dragged out of a garbage can and put through a meat tenderizer. “I have to make myself presentable...”

On one hand, One wanted to avoid places where he knew Morty was likely to find him before he was ready, but on the other hand, the only place he could think of to freshen up for his boyfriend was his house. This was an issue, mostly because it was also Morty’s house.

...It should be fine, right? One just needed to check first if Morty was home. “Hey, Aipom?”

“Ai?”

“I need to not look like a Suicune for a bit...” One gave his primate friend a troubled look. “It’s just a feeling.”

Aipom raised a paw as if to demonstrate that it had an idea. Several minutes later, it had used a couple of vines of ivy that it found to bind up One’s mane into something resembling a beehive, and rubbed the juice of a chesto berry against his chest to get rid of the white area.

Properly disguised as... No one really knew what, but some strange Pokémon species, One was ready to begin his stealth mission.

Seeing as he was in Ecruteak City, where an epidemic of total apathy for all things modern was just as rampant as ever, no one cast him a second glance as he scrambled over to Morty’s home in the already-degraded Ecruteak suburbs. Cautiously, he pressed the side of his head to the door. Hearing nothing, he peeked in through the side window, seeing no signs of life. With a quick sigh of relief, he tried to recall the gym’s hours. A brief flashback of his beloved invaded his mind as he dug through the bushes to retrieve the house-key. He remembered a brief peck, a cutesy goodbye, and shutting the door after watching him leave.

That was the last time he’d seen Morty.

One tried to hold the key in his hand-paw thing, but found rather quickly that it was far less dextrous than his old hand. Still, despite some fumbling with his now-sausagey, furry fingers, he managed to grip the key with the part that wasn’t covered in fur and turn it in the lock. Using both hands to turn the knob, One opened the door, retrieved the key with his teeth and tossed it back into the bushes.

Aipom then asked if it should have done this job for him.

One sighed, invited Aipom in, told it not to make a mess, and loped in on all fours. Aipom shut the door behind it.

This place looked so familiar but so different. His angle was much lower than before, which was to be expected when he was on all fours.

He felt like a stranger here. He knew what everything meant, yes, but he also suddenly felt like he wasn’t supposed to be here. Anxiety crept in. One wasn’t really Eusine. Not anymore. What if he was just putting more pressure on Morty? What if—

Aipom jumped on the counter, sending a pan clattering to the floor.

“Aah!” One ran over there, awkwardly scooping it up in his paws and dumping it on the counter. He felt less comfortable on two legs, yes, but at least he could use his hands... Or whatever those really were. He wasn’t sure.

Using various implements of furniture to keep himself steady, One walked over to the bathroom upright. He glanced inside. Looked clean. Pride welled up inside One, knowing that at least Morty could clean the bathroom on his own.

He coughed, and his chest and stomach reminded him that he was still injured. This time, the pain was worse than before.

Aipom expressed more concern, but One dismissed it. “I told you, I’m fine. I’ll be fine after a good nap, anyway...”

Aipom asked why he hadn’t rested since the fight. He was looking even worse now...

One shook his head. “I need to shower. Morty’s more important... and he’ll be back in...” One glanced over his shoulder at the clock. It read that it was nearly 6 PM. “Uh...” He couldn’t remember what time the gym closed. “Soon.” That wasn’t the only thing that was foggy. One felt a little dizzy, too, but he could deal with that.

Shaking himself out and amplifying the pain, One opened up the cupboard, pulling out a new towel. Couldn’t use the same one at Morty had been, right? He glanced down at his fur, caked in berry juice and mud and spiked from drying out weird. “...I _am_ a mess.”

“Ai?”

“Sorry. Nothing.” One pulled the ivy out of his mane, letting it fall down. “Thanks.”

One repeated the struggle with the doorknob on the shower faucet and clambered in. After feeling awkward with the connotation of the bathroom, despite wearing no less clothing than normal with Aipom, he shooed the primate away to explore the house while he washed himself off. After the preliminary grime (most of the mud and a little berry juice) ran down the drain, One was faced with a conundrum: what soap was he supposed to use? He was covered in fur, a visible amount of which was also shedding into the shower.

He glanced at the bottles. There wasn’t really anything seemingly suited to this... Neither he nor Morty owned any Pokémon with fur, so they didn’t buy Pokémon shampoo.

He needed to get the shower over with quickly. He was feeling dizzier by the moment... Shampoo. Just shampoo the whole way.

Once he looked clean and Suicune-like again, One dried himself off with the towel, glad that not too much more fur came off.

After he left the bathroom, Aipom rejoined him like the baby duck it was pretending not to be.

He staggered over to the closet in the bedroom, where he found that none of his possessions had been moved or touched since he had left. Aww. Respect of boundaries. Truly taken with Morty once again, One pulled on the purple outfit of which he owned several duplicates. Or, at least, part of it. He couldn’t fit the crystal horn on his head through the shirt, so he just wore the jacket and pants with the bow tied loosely around his neck. The cape felt like a little much for today, anyway... The gloves definitely weren’t going to fit, either, and even if he did wear them, lacking even some of the friction he could get with his paw-pads was going to make it even harder to do anything.

Inside the closet, as well, was a staff he and Morty had impulse-bought two or three years back because it looked cool. One grabbed it, using it as a crutch. At least it meant he didn’t need furniture around to walk.

He turned his head quickly as he heard the door rattle, and everything tilted for a moment. Fighting to stop the dizziness, One began limping over to the door to see who it was. That staff was useful, after all!

The door opened, revealing Morty talking into a phone. He froze in the doorway, falling silent, and the young couple’s eyes met.

“...Eusine?” Morty’s voice was small.

With that, Eusine’s name was restored.

* * *

It was nearly 6 PM when Morty saw the text.

Morty stiffened as his eyes traced the words on his Pokégear. “Jasmine’s... Oh, no. Oh, no.”

He had been calling people and answering emails from the Gym’s employee room, since home distracted him too much with memories of Eusine. Of course, now he was going to have to head home— he didn’t have all of his Pokémon with him here. He only had his gym team.

Morty stood up suddenly, hitting his knee on the table and limping away from it. Hurriedly, he dialed in Pryce’s number, since that was the one that had texted him. Two rings, then Karen’s voice.

“Oh, Morty. Took you long enough.”

Morty started walking through the gym, and while he put on a more relaxed demeanor to hide what was going on, he shot Edith a look that conveyed everything. “So, uh, what exactly happened to Jasmine?”

“You remember all that stuff with Eusine and Falkner?” Karen asked.

“How could I forget?” Morty watched the gym doors slide open before him.

“Well, Silver was the third victim, according to Jasmine and Flint.”

“Jasmine and Fl—“ Wait, Morty recognized that name. “Flint? What is Flint doing in— never mind, continue.”

“What, you seeing rainbows for him too?” Karen teased. “Jasmine called Silver the day he was taken, and Team Chimera— how much of this story do you know?”

“I talked to Sabrina in person. She told me the rest.”

“Yeah, Team Chimera sort of threatened Jasmine. Apparently she wanted to keep it in the family, so she only told the old man in Mahogany and a few people from Sinnoh. She got attacked just now. Flint found her, but too late. She’s already hurt, but she made it out, which I guess proves that she’s more competent than anyone else in your fucking region.”

“...You don’t have to rub it in...” Morty sighed. “All right, I’m heading home to grab Driftblim. Are all of you in Olivine City?”

“Jasmine is, I think,” Karen answered. “We’re still at the Lake of Rage. Bye.”

The call clicked to an end before Morty could respond. Okay. Morty dialed in Erika’s number.

“What is it...?”

“I can’t be there in an hour. Something came up, and I have to be in Olivine City.”

“I— Okay...” Erika sniffled. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry, Erika...” Morty’s pace was practically at a run. “I have to go. See you.”

Next up was Janine.

After waiting through being on hold for a bit, since Janine’s line was occupied, Morty finally managed to get through. “Janine!”

“Morty! I was about to call you!” Janine sounded just as frantic as the person she was talking to. “Jasmine’s gone yeet!”

“What the fuck, Janine.” Morty ignored the two words that should never have gone next to each other. “Never mind. I’m heading home to grab Driftblim. Can you meet me at the Pokémon Center in Olivine?”

“Yeah.”

Morty unlocked the door to his house, opening it.

“Let’s go kick some butt!” Janine finished.

Morty didn’t respond. He was busy staring at the blue creature wearing Eusine’s clothing. His Pokégear slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor.

Everything changed at that moment. First, shock, as he recognized who stood in the middle of his foyer, supporting himself with a cane. Then, horror, as he started to notice what had happened. Indiscriminate rage at everything that wasn’t Eusine. Then, regret. So,so much regret. “...Eusine?”

Eusine’s face lit up, an expression so recognizable on a face so different. “Yo.”

Eusine took a step closer, before losing his balance and falling forward. Morty caught him, staggering back to hold his ground and holding Eusine in a hug. The room blurred behind a veil of tears.

Eusine smiled and closed his eyes, and all of Morty’s emotions came rushing back. He sank to his knees, and Eusine crumpled with him, unconscious.

“Morty? Morty, what happened? Morty!” Janine’s voice buzzed tinnily through the floor-bound Pokégear.

All the pain and the joy and the longing came back, and Morty couldn’t stop it. Did he even want to?

Janine didn’t hear the quiet sobs when she hung up.

Morty had always been good at running away from things. He and Eusine used to run away wherever they liked on the weekends, get away from their jobs. Maybe he’d taken the poison to run away from the guilty thoughts that plagued every waking moment. He and Janine ran away to Kanto, if only for Morty to run away from the memories that Bugsy kept dredging up by making the house feel less empty again. He’d been running from his own grief and regret, and everything felt frayed, and he’d been so, so, tired.

But this... This was the first time anything had run to him.

...No, it wasn’t. Eusine had always run to him. That was why they moved in together... Went out on the weekends... Shared at least one meal a day... Were whole together.

“You came back,” Morty whispered, even though he knew it was useless now.

When Janine arrived at Morty’s house around half an hour later, she expected the worst. She had a suspicion that the list, in Jasmine’s place, now included Morty.

The door to the house was already unlocked, but at least it was closed. Just in case the enemy was still inside, Janine placed a hand on a pokéball, taking a breath so that she could enter in total silence. Noiselessly she opened the door and entered, only to see a scene opposite to her expectations. Morty sat on the floor next to the couch, face in his hands. Something else was laid down on the couch, unconscious and covered by a blanket. At first, she thought it was a person, but when she saw its head she realized that couldn’t be. It looked more like a Pokémon, if anything, but it was no Pokémon she’d seen before. Not sure what to say, she let her clothing rustle.

Morty looked up in her direction, then jumped like a cat when he registered that Janine was a real, live person just standing in his foyer.

“Janine!” Midway through, his voice cut from normal speaking volume to a whisper, and he glanced worriedly at the creature on the couch.

Janine approached Morty and the couch. “What is that?” She looked over the thing under the blanket before making eye contact with Morty. “Wait! Have you been crying?”

Morty rubbed an eye self-consciously and blinked a couple times, hoping that the action would make it less red. “N-no...”

“Pfff!” Janine snickered. “So, what happened? You dropped your phone, and then you didn’t respond. I got worried...” She glanced towards the hallway, noticing the purple monkey there. “Oh, look. An Aipom...”

Morty gestured to his unconscious lover on the couch. “Sorry, I, uh—“ Suddenly, nothing would come out. His breath caught in his throat every time he tried to speak. “Eu-Eus...” He felt a lump in his throat, and he fought the urge to start crying again.

“Eusine?” Janine tipped her head. “Well, I can’t blame you for crying... Although you are quite the crybaby.”

Morty shook his head. “No... It’s— he’s—“ He cast a look at Eusine’s head visible past the blanket. “He’s...”

Janine examined the face closer. “It—“ Morty’s reaction swayed her— “He sort of looks like... Oh.” There was the double-take. She whipped around to face Morty. “Oh, you don’t mean to say...!” She backed up. “That’s Eusine?”

Morty nodded.

Janine plonked down into the floor, cross-legged.

“I... Checked him, since he passed out as soon as I saw him...” Morty fidgeted.

“Checked him?” Janine’s smug expression was promptly ignored.

“He’s hurt.” Morty nearly winced as he said it. “It felt like he had a couple broken ribs—“

“Feeling him up already, huh?” Janine wiggled her eyebrows.

“ _Stop._ ” Morty continued. “His back looks bruised, too. He got into a fight... A bad one.”

Janine looked up at the window. “If Eusine’s still alive... What’s Falkner doing?”

“Falkner?” It occurred to Morty that if Team Chimera had made a hybridization of Eusine and a Pokémon, the same might have happened to the other victims. “I think... I think they made him like this, too.”

“Falkner?” Janine’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Silver, too.” Morty felt his stomach turn. “That might be what they’re planning to do to Jasmine, as well...”

Janine gagged.

Morty ran a hand through his hair. “At least they’re alive... What attacked Eusine, I wonder?”

Janine recovered quickly. “We’ll find Falkner. But first, have you called the Pokémon Center?”

Morty paused. “...No?”

“All right, let me. If he’s hurt, we might as well call Ecruteak’s Nurse Joy. She can’t make it worse...”

“Wait,” Morty stopped Janine from pulling out her Pokégear. “We’re trying to keep this whole thing under wraps. I don’t think Eusine would want the attention.”

“Ever heard of doctor-patient confidentiality?” Janine asked. “You kiddos here in Johto are such morons.”

“I’m still seven years older than you,” Morty muttered.

“I’m calling the Center.” Janine finished dialing in the number, berated the Chansey who answered, and gave Joy the address to Morty’s place. “Yeah, I think it has a broken rib...”

Then, Janine called Karen, letting her know that Morty wouldn’t be able to make it to Olivine City.

Within minutes, Joy showed up alone, as per Janine’s request.

While Joy didn’t recognize Eusine in particular, she identified that something was clearly up, and said she’d keep quiet about this.

“I’ve seen these injuries before dozens of times,” Joy assured Morty. “Outside of the League, trainers can be pretty irresponsible... Based on your track record, I’m sure this isn’t your fault.”

Morty didn’t respond, so Janine filled in for him. “No, it’s not.”

“Okay. Broken ribs fixed. As for losing consciousness... I don’t think that’s anything in particular.” Joy pulled the blanket back over Eusine’s thin frame. “Let it sleep for as long as it needs to. It could be awhile...” Joy began backing her house-call kit. “There’s no sign of head trauma, so it’s safe to assume it’ll be fine once it wakes up.”

Morty breathed out a sigh of relief.

Joy closed her kit and stood. “Good luck.”

Janine stood, as well. “I’d better make my way to Olivine City.” For the first time, she showed some emotional awareness: “Should I tell them about Eusine, or do you want to tell them yourself?”

Joy stopped, then went the rest of the way out the door, pretending she hadn’t heard anything.

Morty glanced at Eusine. “I’ll... I’ll tell them myself, when he‘s with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apolgy for bad english
> 
> where were u wen eusin die
> 
> i was at house eating dorito when phone ring
> 
> "Eusin is kil"
> 
> "no"
> 
> Chapter by ClariseTG.


	16. Terminal Idiocy

To say Blackthorn City was a bit of a backwater would be something of a massive understatement.

The entire City was built into the side of a mountain, small cave entrances as heavily and religiously trafficked as most of the area’s roads. The roars of dragons could be heard almost daily, and fires were horrifically common. And that was saying nothing of the  _ people _ , all mighty and braggadocious or wise in that most annoying of ways, elders flashing at you the kind of smile that could kill twenty adult dogs from guilt and shame alone.

In Lyra’s  _ professional _ opinion, it was probably the worst place in Johto. Then again, she had said that about  _ every _ place in Johto, and the continent had hardly gotten much better in the past ten years.

Maybe, if she wanted to compromise, she could tone down the hyperbole, she thought as she dismounted from her horridly-named Pidgeot from about five feet up onto the steady sort of three-point landing she’d long since perfected. Then again, the hyperbole was kind of her  _ thing _ . She’d probably keep it up.

And besides, it stoked a certain thrill in her when she called a place trash and meant it.

She didn’t exactly have directions to where she needed to go, but she hardly needed them. (Besides, a nagging little voice in the back of her head thought, she wouldn’t ask for them even if she was lost.) All she had to do was walk to the most outwardly hovel-y of hovels, a place that screamed “While you were busy sleeping I studied the fang,” and the ritzy little apartment complex which she speculated damn near everyone in the glorified village lived in almost screamed it. Stylized pictures of dragons in flight lined the walls of the building, odd and uniquely Johtoese constructions hanging off the tops of some windows and lying on the sills of others. The effect was that of a sort of home from a time long gone, home to a bunch of probable pagans who worshipped both the land dragons walked on and the air they flew in.

She hated it. She hated most of the town, really, but she hated that one building most of all.

And of the rooms in the building, it was easy to find where to go. Again, all she had to do was follow her own hatred.

She opened the door and knocked at the same time, league-offered key typically used only for emergencies once more proving its use as she all but stormed into the room.

The blank, barren,  _ empty _ room.

Huh.

Maybe she wasn’t quite as good at this sort of thing as she thought she was.

* * *

Well, she wasn’t burning herself out physically anymore.

Looking on the bright side was not something Clair was accustomed to doing. And for good reason: it was hard, annoying to keep up, and generally led to a lifetime of disappointment if overused. Sure, maybe she was less happy as a cynic, but that came more naturally to her, and she hardly had the time or energy to waste on fitting her square peg into a round hole.

Thus the screaming sirens in her brain.

Hunched over paperwork wasn’t a good look for anyone, not really, but she imagined that for her it was especially bad. She was built for action, dammit, not accounting. There was a reason she nearly flunked out of math, and it sure as hell wasn’t because she wasn’t paying attention.

But here she was regardless, staring down a list of city finances with a cold, dismissive eye as her team did drills without her. (Not that they  _ needed _ her, not when they’d been training for, oh, about four weeks straight at this point, but it was the principle of the thing.)

The Dragon’s Den was hardly a good workspace, not when ice and flame screamed behind her as her Kingdra and Dragonite sparred on equal terms, not while every instinct in her screamed to bark out commands, to coach, to drive her team further and higher with unflinching severity, but she wasn’t about to put her training even more on hold for these overlong leaflets and she’d needed to get these done. That same sort of childhood sense of obligation that would take hold whenever she was scolded or whenever Lance softly told her that she  _ needed _ to do her work lest calamity strike had long come back with a vengeance and it had left her squinting at old man Winslow’s unhealthy determination to the art of blowing half the city’s budget on dentures in spite of herself.

Not that she was paying rapt attention to it, mind. That was proven quickly enough when a newcomer entered the Den and she immediately weighed her severe, frozen gaze upon them.

Ah. Her least favorite person in the world. This figured to be… well, not  _ fun _ , but certainly  _ interesting _ .

“Hey,” spoke the beast in young woman’s form, mouth affixed in the permanent grin she’d long since realized it was frozen in. “Y’know, your room? Kind of a mess. Try livening it up a little, maybe people would like you more.”

Her tone was steady even as her mind wasn’t. “I hope you didn’t come here solely to complain about my living habits.”

“Oh, of course not. Giratina knows you’ve gotten enough of that already.” Oh, yeah, Satanist, sometimes she forgot that little detail when confronted by the thirty or so other infinitely more annoying ones.

“And I suppose you want a thank you?”

“Naturally.” She could almost see her grin widen.

“A shame you aren’t getting one, then.”

Her eyes looked like molten steel, the young woman in front of her sizing her up as if shocked by her audacity even when well aware of the enmity between the two. “Any other time, and I’d be personally insulted.”

Clair, under her breath, muttered something along the lines of “Good.”

If Lyra heard it — which, oh, she most certainly did — then she didn’t see fit to comment on it. “Unfortunately, we’ve got something a little more serious on our hands. Well,  _ yours _ soon, but for now it’s ours.” At Clair’s confused look, Lyra couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“I’m just going to assume it’s Team Chimera shit.”

“Yep,” the brunette replied instantly, popping the p at the end as if it were nothing more than an uncooked corn kernel. “You  _ probably _ don’t know how severe it’s gotten, though. Just a guess.”

“And how would you know that?”

“The last time you tried installing an internet router in your house was when you were, like, twenty-five. Lance had to help you.” How this woman — no, this child — knew so much of her past was a question she thought best left unanswered.

“And what does that have to do with anything?” Her voice raised a little at the end, and she had to bite back a curse.

“Oh, y’know, just the fact that you  _ probably haven’t checked the news _ .”

“Newspapers exist,” she retorted, defensive as a freakish cross between a porcupine and a tortoise.

“Nobody reads them, least of all you.” The words  _ kinda have to be literate for that _ swayed under her breath, but she clearly wanted Clair to hear them. “Let’s face it, you kinda haven’t been keeping up lately. So let’s go and take a fun trip to phone city, yeah?”

“If that was meant to be endearing, I’m afraid to tell you that it isn’t in the slightest.”

“Good.” Without a second word, she crouched down on one knee, face mere inches from Clair as she idly thumbed through the news app even the dragon trainer could tell was shitty. “Let’s see… Unovan man dies after ingesting a Pikachu… Local bartender develops some shitty-ass drink… Some new species reported in Galar, yeah, yeah, who gives a shit about them—“

“Get to the point.”

“How impatient,” she responded, harsh words bouncing off her as if she were a woman of rubber, and yet as she rolled her eyes so much Clair swore they’d fall out of their sockets she obeyed her wish all the same. “Here you go. News came out just this morning. Evidently they saw her playing gargoyle on the roof or something.”

The white light hurt her eyes at first, but as she adjusted it became much easier to make out the bold black headline. In crystal clarity: “Gym Leader Launched out Window, Nearly Killed.”

“What?”

“Oh, y’know, these sorts of things just happen, right? I swear I’ve been thrown through a pane of glass like five times in the past week.” Perhaps sensing her sarcasm was falling on deaf ears, Lyra elected to continue on to a more substantial topic of discussion. “It’s not just her. Pryce hit his head on a tree somehow and he hasn’t woken up yet. Silver’s been missing for days and nobody knows why.” She stood up, then, expression uncharacteristically grim, perhaps giving the Gym Leader below her time to digest her words.

“Are they… Will they be…?”

“Fine? Honestly, I don’t know.” An expression of regret seemed to cross her face for a split-second. Clair didn’t much care for it. “But you know what I do have?”

“Sociopathy?”

She ignored Clair’s dig, for once. “A plan.”

“And what would this plan be?” She was curious. She shouldn’t be, knowing her, knowing that anything she said would likely be terribly ill-advised at best and suicidal at worst, but dammit, she was curious.

“We punch Team Chimera in the face so hard they start shitting out noses.”

For a moment, she remembered the discussion she had with Pryce, the old man’s critical view of Lance’s actions against Team Rocket. A moment was all the time she needed, coincidentally, to come to a decision. “Even for you, that sounds horribly idiotic.”

“Well, yeah. Chuck came up with it. Different way of phrasing it, of course, but still.” Her grin grew bigger as she spoke — she was anticipating something. “It’s as sound a strategy as any, though, right? Don’t tell me you could come up with better.”

She was barely able to keep a  _ probably _ from slipping out at that. “Even so, it’s still stupid. We’d get killed, or worse. We’re hardly well-equipped for that sort of thing, and our cities need us.”

“Do they?”

The champion took Clair’s quizzical look as permission to keep going. “Think about it. How bad off was the city when you were out doing your training from hell? How badly has Violet suffered since Falkner bit it? Not a lot, right?” It shook Clair, to hear her role spoken of in such a critical light. Lyra kept going. “Besides, it’d be quick. In and out, thirty minute adventure. I busted up Team Rocket practically all by myself, three of us against some dopey team of rejects would be no contest.”

Every better instinct in her was screaming to refuse, to turn tail, to reject this deal on principle. But she couldn’t stop herself from being interested. “And how do you know it’s going to work?”

Lyra smiled a cheshire cat smile as she spoke next, and it almost made Clair believe she was a hypnotist in another life. “Well, what else can we do?”

And so, despite herself, Clair complied.

* * *

“Y’know, I didn’t really know people could bleed there.”

Flint’s bedside manner was atrocious, but Jasmine hardly expected much else from him. Volkner stood behind him, leaning on an apartment wall riddled with bullet holes, every bit as calm and collected as he always was even as, Jasmine knew, he was panicking inside.

“If it’s got skin, it can bleed.” The laconicness here, then, was probably some sort of coping mechanism.

“I mean,  _ I know that _ , but, like, Arceus.” Flint gave Jasmine a wide-eyed look of surprise as he wrapped a bandage around her elbow. “Y’sure you aren’t just blood and bones?”

“Pretty sure it’s just bones, now.” Jasmine replied, smiling in the face of the pain. She’d experienced worse, after all. This sort of constant pain was pretty terrible, yes, but it was a far cry from being chased by bullets or bleeding to death sixty feet up.

“Well, you probably have  _ some _ muscle. You’d need it to pull that sort of stunt off.” Volkner looked away in what he probably hoped came across as impassivity but what Jasmine knew was squeamishness. He’d never been very good with blood, or wounds of any kind, really. Could hurt him at times like this, but it was one of the main reasons he was still alive.

“Yeah! Like,  _ yo _ , dude, that guy had a  _ machine gun _ ?”

She’d already explained the story to Flint, oh, five or so times, but she was happy to tell it once more. “Yep. Left holes all over the place. He nearly got me, oh, like six times!”

“Man, how the hell are you still alive?”

“Wish I knew. Divine intervention?”

“If you two are done having the most inane conversation known to man,” Volkner interrupted, clearing his throat as he did so, “It’s about time we got going. Jasmine’s wounds are all bandaged, and,” as if on cue, a police siren wailed in the distance, “If you want your plan to work, we’re going to have to go now.”

“Oh, my car’s in the garage,” said the woman blissfully unaware of her status as one of the few vehicle-owners among the region’s governing body. “I’ll go down and get it.”

“Woah woah woah,  _ no _ , not today, ma’am!” Flint all but threw himself in front of her to keep her on the ruined couch they’d repurposed into a makeshit hospital bed. “You’re, like, a pincushion right now. Or a sponge? Probably a sponge?”

“The point he means to make,” Volkner clarified, “is that you’re in no condition to stand. In all honesty, you probably shouldn’t be alive.” Both of those in the room with him knew better than to tease him for trailing off.

Jasmine cleared her throat, as painful as the action was, before she next spoke. She knew it’d be a while before she stopped. “I know this city like the back of my hand. The people here know me, and won’t question me if I’m going down to fetch my car. I can get to my house from here in, oh, twelve or so minutes? Lighthouse would be more like fifteen. I got my driver’s license at sixteen and my pilot’s license at twenty-three, and the two of you only got yours at twenty-four and already have like ten tickets between you.” She smiled an impish smile as she took a breath. “Doctor’s orders. I know. But I’m afraid I’ll have to disobey them. I’m the only one who knows how to outrun these guys, after all.”

Silence, for a few seconds. Then, a shout.

“I call shotgun!”

“Goddamnit, Flint.”

Jasmine laughed as her friend’s antics as she left the room, every part of her body in pain and yet her mind feeling better than it had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by LonelyRollingStar.


	17. A Brush-Off a Day Keeps the Shippers Away

Jasmine backed out carefully into the street, switching the vehicle into drive.

She only managed to get a short way in the direction of the lighthouse before a greenish blur jumped in front of the car and she had to swerve to avoid hitting it.

“Whoa! You okay?” Flint gripped the car door, and Volkner peered in with badly-disguised curiosity. “Getting dizzy?”

Jasmine opened the car door and stepped out, reestablishing the cool, calculating facade that she upheld around the other gym leaders of her region. “Bugsy, what have I told you about jumping in front of my car?”

Karen’s laughter was audible from half a block away.

“Jasmine! I heard you were gonna get murdered!” Bugsy’s gaze traveled up and down Jasmine’s form, tracing all of the bruises and glass-cuts across her body. “Jeez, from the looks of it, they nearly did.”

As half of the elite four and Whitney approached, Jasmine answered, “Murdered? By who?”

Koga sighed wearily. “He’s been with us... The whole time...”

Jasmine shot him a consoling look before turning back to Bugsy. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I already know about Team Chimera,” Bugsy squeaked, “and I know about Eusine, and Falkner. Silver, too.”

Jasmine sighed. “And their next target?”

“Um, we’re not sure, but—“

Karen decided to take over. She was still wearing the bikini. “Shut up, kid.” Her expression became unusually neutral. “Jasmine, we saw Pryce.”

Bugsy glanced between Jasmine and Karen, taken aback. Was Karen being... respectful?

“Oh.” Jasmine looked disappointed, based on Karen’s face. “That bad?”

“Head trauma. Probably a coma.” Karen flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Won’t get worse, I’m sure. Old man’s pretty hardy.”

“That’s good to hear,” Jasmine’s soft-spoken yet hard-shelled demeanor had fully returned. Everyone here, she could let her guard down around, except for those two. Why were Bugsy and Whitney here, again? She smiled her smile, knowing the Sinnoh boys noticed how artificial it was.

Karen eyed the car. “Where were you going?”

Jasmine glanced back towards the car, where Volkner still crouched in the back seat, pretending not to listen but sneaking worried looks towards herself. Flint had already approached, but was trying to keep his distance from Bugsy. “Well, we were headed to my home... I needed to pick something up.”

Karen gave Jasmine a knowing look. “You want our help?”

Jasmine scanned Bugsy and Whitney’s eager faces. “Er... I don’t think we need it.”

“Lighten up, Jazz!” Flint interrupted.

Karen turned to Bugsy and Whitney. “Scurry on home, kids. The adults are gonna talk now.”

“I’m an adult!” Bugsy wailed. “I’m 28 and a half!”

“And a half,” Karen replied flatly. “Toddler.”

Whitney walked up to Bugsy, and for a moment it almost seemed like she was about to back Karen up until, “I want to know why they hurt them all, too.”

Jasmine and Karen exchanged a look.

“Really, it’s fine,” Jasmine answered. “This isn’t about that.”

“Fuck off,” Karen followed up, much less politely.

“Hey, now, that’s pretty rude!” Flint inserted himself into the conversation yet again. “Why shouldn’t they offer themselves out? It’s a civic duty! Just look at us, over here!”

Whitney looked like she was about to cry, and Bugsy started to console her, but Karen knew that this was a threat.

The interplay of various prejudices was interrupted as a familiar screaming voice ordered a Pidgeot to stop. “Please, slow down! I’m about to fall off!”

“Janine?” Koga looked up.

This time, with at least a little practice, Janine’s landing was much more professional. It was far from perfect as she shakily rejoined the earth, but at least she wasn’t flung off.

“Hiya!” Flint gave her a wave.

“Jasmine!” Janine dashed up to her name-counterpart. “You look terrible!”

“I’m fine,” Jasmine shrugged serenely. “They’re only scratches...”

“I’m here to help,” Janine explained, “And I was gonna bring Morty, but...”

“Yeah, Morty said he was coming!” Bugsy’s voice cracked.

“Something came up in Ecruteak,” Janine looked a little unsure. “So I came here for him.”

“Purple pride flag’s having trouble?” Karen asked. “Was it—“Karen scrutinized the building crowd— “Them?”

“No,” Janine shook her head. “Not really...”

“Not really?” Flint interjected. “That sounds like they might be involved!”

Janine pulled on her scarf. “Really, they aren’t... What happened to you, Jasmine?”

“Them. Definitely them,” she answered for far from the first time. “Karen, I’ll see you around. Flint, let’s go...”

Flint looked at Jasmine, then at Karen, then at Bugsy and Whitney, then to Janine, confused. “Okay! See you all around!”

“Wait!” Bugsy called out. “I... I’ll leave, but Jasmine, stay safe!”

“Hm?” Karen looked over.

“T-take Karen, at least. I think she wants to go,” Bugsy continued, “Or, at least, I think so, but I can’t speak for her, really... Anyway, stay in town and let Karen protect you, too! I’m sure you want to see _them_ caught just as much as we do, but you can’t go anywhere right now...”

“He’s right, Jazz,” Flint repeated. “You are pretty scratched up.”

“I’m fine.”

Whitney walked up to Jasmine, looked for the worst scratch on her arm, and suddenly punched Jasmine directly on it.

“Agh!” Jasmine yelped as pain ricocheted up her shoulder and sent chills down her spine. Trying to ignore the pain, she looked Whitney straight in the eyes, calmly asking, “what was that for?”

Whitney looked around at the crowd of league members for approval. Actually, there was a mob of normal people building up around, too, but she ignored them. “To prove that you’re not fine. You saw that, right? I agree with Bugsy. At least stay in town for the night. I’ll be here, and so will Miltank.”

At the mention of the name, some trainers in the audience shuddered.

Whitney looked around. “Anyway, it seems like we’ve caused quite a stir... They might want to know where you’re going if you leave now...” Whitney’s expression darkened. “Won’t they?”

Jasmine sighed, the least she could do to acknowledge Whitney’s threat. “If that’s what you want...” She sent a sideways glance towards Flint, “A day may not hurt.”

Flint began a small celebratory action, but cancelled it once he saw Jasmine’s expression. Still, he grinned and added, “Yeah! A day of rest never hurt anyone.”

Jasmine turned towards the car. “I’m headed home, then... Would you like to join us, Karen?”

Karen smirked at Bugsy and Whitney. “Yes, I would.”

* * *

It wasn’t long before the crew— now back down to Jasmine, Karen, Volkner, and Flint— arrived at Jasmine’s home.

It was a rickety old building, and it loomed overhead like a vulture as the group entered its gaping maw of a door. The beams holding up its balcony looked rotten, barely able to withstand buckling under their own weight.

The inside was similar— while it had been immaculately cleaned in areas of frequent use, the hard-to-reach corners and welling shadows smelled of disrepair. There was a clear “main hall” leading out of the foyer-library mix— it led into a series of other rooms, most of which were unlabeled. A conspicuous sign on the door nearest the library hollered, “KAREN’S ROOM!” in bold sharpie.

Jasmine led the group down into the hall, pointing out which rooms were bathrooms, which one was hers, which one permanently belonged to Karen and that no one except Karen was allowed into, and which ones they could help themselves to.

“You’re being mighty generous, Jazz,” Flint continued. “Are you sure you don’t want us to stay at the hotel?”

“No, stay here,” Jasmine replied. “You three are good friends of mine...” She made eye contact with Volkner, who seemed confused at the gesture.

“And the other gym leaders of your region ain’t?” Flint asked, clearly confused.

“Not...” Jasmine hesitated. “Those two in particular.”

Volkner jumped as the part of the wall he was leaning on collapsed. He brushed himself off as nonchalantly as he could, then reminded Flint, “they’re kids.”

Jasmine looked over Volkner, who had splinters in his jacket, and the brand-new hole in the wall, right at home in a sea of plywood and duct tape, and snickered. “Are you okay?”

“I’m as fine as I’ll ever be,” Volkner sighed.

Later, Jasmine ordered takeout from an Alolan place in Olivine and the four league members had an impromptu sleep-over.

* * *

Morty was pulled out of a dream into the sound of a running kitchen vent and other various cooking noises. Eyes closed, he wondered for a moment why he was asleep sitting upright, before remembering the night before. ...Eusine!

His eyes flew open and he turned around to look at the couch. The blanket was empty.

Panic instantly surged through Morty’s chest. Where did he go?

All it took was for him to look in the other direction for him to see Eusine.

He just stared incredulously at his boyfriend, watching him flip the last of the pancakes. A part of him, still in some shock, wondered if it was really Eusine.

After flipping the last pancake, Eusine eyed the empty batter bowl and ran his finger along the inside to pick up some of the traces left. When he tried to taste it, though, he spluttered out a mouthful of fur.

Morty almost reacted to that, but his freedom from paralysis instead came from the purple monkey that jumped on his lap, staring him straight in the eyes.

“Aipom?”

Morty stiffened, leaning away from it. “H-hi...”

Aipom seemed satisfied, then barked at Eusine.

“He’s awake?” Eusine glanced over. “Morty!”

As Aipom jumped off, Morty felt the anxiety that particular normal-type gave him fade. He stood up. “Eusine?” It felt strange to say his name aloud again.

“Good morning,” Eusine gestured to the table, on which he’d stacked a set of pancakes, “I made pancakes. Want some?”

“S-sure,” Morty noticed that Eusine was leaning heavily on a cane. “Are you sure you should be walking around?”

“Not on two legs,” Eusine hobbled over to the table, pulling out the chair and half-falling into it.

The table was already set. Morty took a seat.

It was quiet for awhile; Morty dug into the pancakes furiously, and Eusine tried not to laugh at him as he steeped in a strange mix of wistfulness and guilt.

Finally, Morty looked up, noticing that Eusine had eaten a minority of the pancakes. “Sorry...”

“It’s okay...” Eusine chuckled. “I’m not really that hungry.”

“It’s just...” Morty glanced down at the pancakes, then back at Eusine. “I missed this.”

“I’m...” Eusine sighed. “Sorry.”

“What?” Morty realized that Eusine might be apologizing for the things that happened during his abscence. “No, I’m sorry, for not looking for you more.”

“It’s not your fault,” Eusine retorted, “they had a—“

“I left you.” Morty noticed that he was leaning forward, and settled back into his chair. “...I was so irresponsible once you left. I let everything slip, I let Karen...” He trailed off.

Eusine suddenly looked concerned and a little angry. “What did Karen think she could do to you?”

It dawned on Morty what Eusine must have assumed, and a look of horror washed over his face. “N-nothing like that, Eusine. She convinced me to take poison...”

Eusine looked a lot more worried than angry now. “...I heard about that from Pryce. Not the Karen part, I’ll be talking to her soon, but the poison.”

“You heard about...?” The horror turned to shame. “Oh.”

Eusine got up from his seat at the table and walked up to Morty, towering over him. “Morty.”

Morty looked up at him. “...Yeah?”

Eusine suddenly bent down and wrapped Morty in a hug. “I don’t want you to do that to yourself, ok? You deserve better...”

Morty was quiet.

“I want you to tell me you won’t,” Eusine backed off just a little, hands on Morty’s shoulders.

“Okay,” Morty nearly whispered it.

Eusine smiled. “Okay. Now...” There was a noise behind him, and he looked towards it. “Oh! Aipom.”

The monkey was hovering over one of the last remaining pancakes, unclaimed by either of them. Its hollow grin, as seen by Morty, seemed to indicate that it wanted the pancake.

“Of course you can have one. I didn’t make them for myself...”

Morty gave Eusine a worried look.

“Just for myself,” Eusine corrected. “I didn’t make them just for myself.” He brushed a bit of his mane away from his face awkwardly. “So, uh, anything happen while I was gone?”

Visions of Bugsy’s breaking and entering of this home, of he and Janine’s murder-revenge-quest, and of losing to Karen in casual conversation flashed across Morty’s mind. “...N-no, nothing much...”

“The milk in the fridge is two days from the expiry date.” Eusine wasn’t convinced. “You haven’t been drinking much ‘coffee’ lately, have you?”

“Eusine, when you showed up here, you had broken ribs, bruises... I mean, you passed out the second I saw you. What happened?”

Eusine sighed. He hadn’t been expecting a response to that one, anyway. “Team Chimera seems to want me back.”

“They... Want you back?” Morty repeated numbly.

“Why else would they send Falkner after me?”

“Falkner?”

“He must have been hard to capture, so they must be pretty desperate at this—“ it dawned on Eusine. “...I’m an idiot. An absolute buffoon.” Eusine stood up. “No wonder Pryce told me to stay in Mahogany, under protection... If they already sent Falkner after me, then...!” Eusine looked towards the windows wildly. “I’m putting you in danger. I should go—“

“No.” Morty followed suit, taking Eusine’s hand. “I... I can’t be alone again. All the gym leaders are meeting up in Olivine—“

“Olivine?”

“Yeah, since Jasmine’s been attacked, or something. Everyone’s there to see what’s up. If we stay together, we’ll be safe.”

Eusine relaxed a little. “That’s... Not a terrible idea.” He hesitated. “...It’s worth a shot.”

* * *

The scent of coffee mixed with the scent of old paper inside of Jasmine’s mansion.

Jasmine was long awake; she had risen before the sun and curled up with the pitchest, blackest caffeine she could find and a book. Volkner had already been awake at the time, and joined her in the library, though he later fell back asleep.

Flint was barely awake, and while Karen was still dead asleep, no one wanted to be the one to wake her up.

Flint had already added several sugar cubes to his half-and-half milk-coffee mixture, and while he contested that it was still bitter, he tried to down it as effectively as possible.

There was a light knock on the door, which sounded a little metallic but polite nonetheless.

“Should I get it?” Flint asked.

Jasmine looked up from her book and shrugged. “Who would it be?”

Volkner half-shouted, half-moaned some strange gibberish in his sleep.

“Well, if it’s Bugsy, we shouldn’t ignore him. I won’t live it down,” Jasmine slipped her bookmark into her current page.

Flint walked up to the door, opening it.

It was immediately clear that something was wrong, based purely on the expression of surprise on Flint’s face. “You’re not Bugsy.”

Whoever it was, they sneered, “Is Jasmine home?”

Flint cast a look towards her nervously. “Er...”

There was only a momentary gleam of light before a wave of ice exploded from the door.

Flint, swept off his feet, landed on the coffee counter like a cat, back arched and fire in his eyes.

Jasmine dropped her book, getting to her feet.

“Why do you look so scared, Jazzy?” Silver flexed his claws, ice crumbling off of them and clinking like glass on the floor. “It’s just me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you don't know how excited I am for next week. Part 19 is my favorite part by far– a lot happens. *rubs hands together evilly*  
> I'm pretty busy over the course of this coming week, so I'm not sure if I'll be able to draw refs for Hybrid Silver and some of the Team Chimera Admin. If I can, though, I will!
> 
> Chapter by ClariseTG.


	18. Persistence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erika starts some conversations. Not all of them go according to plan.

_“I’m still not quite sure what to make of you.”_

_Sabrina hadn’t really expected Erika to so much as accept her offer to go out for the night, much less order the first round of drinks, but now that she was here and present the psychic almost didn’t know what to do with herself. She knew how to interact with other humans, in theory. (She’d been reading their minds for the past eighteen years of her life, after all.) But theory and practice were two very different things, and it took everything she had to keep herself from stepping on what she didn’t doubt were countless little tripwires and landmines that could doom even the closest of relationships. For a brief, wistful moment she considered consulting a manual on the subject, only to come to the abrupt realization that she hadn’t the possession of one, nor had she authored one. It wouldn’t help her, not here, but it’d set her racing mind at ease, and the voices in her own head on top of the ones of the bartender, of the establishment’s patrons, nearly suffocated her._

_She eventually settled on responding to what she could only assume was Erika’s veiled question with one of her own. “What is there to make of me?”_

_“Oh, you know,” and the girl to her left sighed dramatically as she spoke, and Sabrina was briefly left in shock at how different she sounded from the woman in Celadon’s Gym, “What to think about you. Like, adjectives. Mysterious, secretive, kind-hearted, that sort of thing.”_

_She’d sworn herself to not read Erika’s mind for the evening. She wouldn’t find anything there anyways, not given how her earlier attempts had ended in utter failure leading to this meeting, but it was a thing of habit, at this point. And it was a habit that she almost had to bite her own lip to avoid breaking, as she slowly took in what she could only assume was the meaning of the woman’s words. “One of the main traits you ascribe to me is ‘kind-hearted’?”_

_“Well, yeah,” said Erika, with all the direct bluntness of someone stating that the sky was blue or that pain hurt. “You did ask me to accompany you, after all.”_

_Ah. A misconception. She’d have to clear that up. “I… I can assure you that my inviting you here was not out of the pureness of my heart,” claimed Sabrina, uncharacteristically stumbling over her words as she spoke._

_“Say what you want to say,” Erika cheerily responded while downing what was probably her fifth glass of the evening. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re the first person to ask me to speak to you honestly in, oh, about five years.”_

\--

Sabrina had foregone coffee that morning. She was hardly a spiritualist, hardly one to believe in superstition, (it had always been Erika, she thought sadly, who idly flicked through the astrology section in the paper, and she wished she could have been surprised at how much it still hurt to think of her) but perhaps if she was less reasoned in her beliefs she would have figured that the reason she forewent it that morning was because on some level she knew that she’d be given a jolt to put it to shame not five minutes later.

“Hey,” said the girl who smelled of flowers but acted like anything but, who laced her smiles with poisons that could kill grown Kangaskhans, who hid herself behind so many layers of masks that not even the mind-reader had gotten through them all. “Can we talk?”

Wordlessly, Sabrina stepped aside to let her in.

She pretended not to notice the fresh red rings around her eyes, or the ugly red scars barely visible through her stockings.

\--

They were out of alcohol, so they settled on caffeine.

Sabrina’s eyes must have looked like those of a killer and she knew it, much like how she didn’t know how to soften them. (There was a reason she’d always been cast as the villain in all the films she acted for, after all.) Erika’s, meanwhile, more closely resembled a kicked puppy’s, face wavering as she drank from her cup in a motion more practiced than natural.

Briefly, Sabrina wondered what she’d done to hurt her so, before she remembered and felt the urge to throw her traitorous mind into a paper shredder.

The silence was broken not by a scream, not by a shout, not even by an attempt at conversation, but by a quiet, mumbled apology. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” The psychic had cursed her bluntness so often that she knew just how to go about it at this point, so she didn’t, in spite of how every part of her body seemed to break and despair at every word that exited her mouth. “I, I don’t mean to be so blunt, I just—“

“I know what you mean.” A brief smile graced Erika’s features, before her frown returned with a vengeance, forlorn gaze capable of bringing dictators to tears aimed directly at the remaining liquid in her cup. “And I know that you’re wrong.”

Disbelief was not an emotion that spread across Sabrina’s features, but she wished it was, given how loudly it echoed within the confines of her own mind. “You… You can’t truly believe you were at fault for that.”

“I was.” The ridiculous woman in front of her smiled, and it felt like Sabrina’s heart was shattering as she did so, as she noted the way it failed to reach her eyes. (Normally she wasn’t this sloppy. She was her masks only ever failed when she was incredibly emotional, that she knew, and she ignored the revelation due to the knowledge that it’d hit her like a ton of bricks.) “I overreacted. Pushed you away without even seeking any explanations, played the part of a foolish trial, and I’ve hurt you so, so terribly.” (Normally she wasn’t this stilted when she spoke. She let that revelation slide too.)

“You acted perfectly reasonably,” Sabrina countered. “For all you knew, I was an agent for that organization in both name and spirit. Your judgment was sound—“

“Stop that.”

At this, Sabrina was confused visibly. A small mercy. “Stop what?”

“Blaming yourself. You didn’t—I caused all this, don’t you see? I hurt you. I, I nearly broke you, and I can’t imagine how terrible it felt, can’t imagine how—I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, just, just leave me, okay? You don’t have to force yourself to be around me, not if I do this to you, not if I prove myself a, a monster so clearly, and I just—“ She stopped, not because she had no words left to speak, but because her body wouldn’t let her continue, hyperventilating as choked-back sobs echoed through the kitchen, and, oh, when had she started crying? “I just…”

Erika’s stability finally faltered as she hit the tile floor, cup dropped from her hand with nary a second thought, tears and coffee mingling on her skirt-clad knees as she broke down sobbing.

Sabrina hadn’t always been the best in her field, not really, but rarely was she wholly incompetent. There was something she could do in just about every scenario, some way she could apply herself, some potential solution to her problems.

At this moment, watching her best friend break into a million pieces in front of her, frozen heart threatening to wrench itself out of her chest, Sabrina finally understood what it felt like to be completely and utterly helpless.

\--

The couch had been getting old even before everything had fallen apart. Now it was positively ancient, or at least by her standards. Erika would have said she was being silly, complaining about nothing and wasting a perfectly good piece of furniture in the process.

Erika was currently crying into her shoulder, snot and tears mingling on her skin.

_It’s not your fault,_ she kept trying to say. _None of this was your doing. I hurt you. I made you leave. Please don’t hate yourself. Please accept my apologies, please don’t let this break you._

_Please, don’t convict yourself of a crime I committed._

But the shivering form of the woman curled up on her side didn’t seem to register any of it, not while she was like this, a glass breaking in slow motion, at what Sabrina could only hope was the apex of her misery.

She didn’t know what to do.

She didn’t know what to do, she was clueless, and she didn’t have the right to try to comfort Erika besides, not after she’d wronged her so horribly, scarred her so deeply, made her cry so long and so hard she feared her body wouldn’t be able to handle it. She wasn’t a comforter, wasn’t a therapist, wasn’t a counselor. Logic dictated her horribly bungled attempts to comfort her would only make the situation worse.

And yet she found herself desperately trying to calm her down anyways, whispering words she could only hope would comfort her into her ear as she held her, waiting for her tears to run out.

They did, eventually, but the crying didn’t stop. There was nothing left to expunge, no tears left to shed, and yet the _crying didn’t stop_ , and she was glad she’d never read a thought of the woman’s in the past eight years not because it enabled her to trust someone like she never had before but because if she knew the true depths of her anguish she’d never be the same.

Dry, muffled sobs echoed throughout the entire building. Sabrina could only hope that nobody would hear.

\--

“I should leave,” the woman to her side said after she’d gotten enough control of her senses to be capable of losing it again. “I don’t deserve to be around you.”

“Stay. Please.”

“Why? I’ll only hurt you more.”

“Because nothing hurts more than you saying that.”

For a second, Erika was silent. “More proof I should just leave, then,” she countered, but she stayed anyway, and Sabrina knew it was the closest thing to a victory she’d get.

\--

She fell asleep at around eleven in the morning, worn out by her sobs. Sabrina stayed by her side without sleeping for nine hours after that, because even though her mind told her that she wouldn’t disappear if she left for just a minute her body seemed unable to believe it.

By the time she next awoke, it was three in the morning, the moon had bathed the entire room in its light, and the coffee had long since seeped into the cracks between the tiles.

She’d woken not long after Erika had, judging by her shocked reaction when she realized that the psychic had obligingly been her pillow for the entire night, and though every part of her body ached at moving back into action so early she couldn’t find it in herself to care when the reason for her doing so was right in front of her.

“Sleep well?” The words would fall like stones out of Sabrina’s lips if she’d tried to twist them into something that wasn’t like her, so she didn’t try it, voice as harsh and biting and unforgiving as ever even as she aimed to soothe.

Given how utterly, heartbreakingly grateful Erika looked when she said the words, it seemed they’d had the desired effect.

\--

They hadn’t settled things between the two of them. For now, that’d have to wait.

Erika didn’t quite have the same form as Sabrina did, wider in some places, slimmer in others, and five inches shorter to boot, but she’d spent so much time in her apartment that Sabrina had clothes for her anyways, clothes she slipped into without complaint. Sabrina did the same with some of hers, tossing on a black jacket over a crimson shirt and calming down her friend when she started apologizing profusely about ruining the clothes she’d had on earlier. “They’d be fine,” the psychic said, with a little bit of washing. “Nothing she hadn’t already seen before,” and she didn’t elaborate because she knew that if she did it would only make Erika’s wounds hurt worse.

They allowed themselves time to freshen up before heading out. Such was customary, after all, for a meeting with one’s bosses.

\--

As far as roads went, Victory Road wasn’t the worst, but that was only because it wasn’t a road in the traditional sense. The few times she’d tried to traverse it Sabrina had found herself unbelievably annoyed by how awful it was, filled to bursting with gotchas and obstructions that served only to lengthen what would otherwise have been a simple journey.

After her third attempt at crossing it by foot, she’d sworn to teleport past it until they cleaned the road up. They never had.

Her Alakazam, its work for the day done, obligingly returned to the casino it had previously been resting in, lucrative job as a dealer there justifiably seen as more interesting than sticking around for dramatics far beneath its station. The Elite Four’s main base of operations hadn’t gotten any less impressive since Lyra had taken over, of course, but it hadn’t gotten any more impressive either.

“Do you want to go inside, or let me do the talking?” They’d agreed that Erika would be the one to explain what was going on. Her tongue, as much as it frustrated Sabrina at times, was pure silver.

“I’ll join you. It would be better if they saw there was more than one of us there.”

“Yeah,” Erika replied, and though she masked herself very well Sabrina could see that she was fidgeting by how her foot tapped against the rocky ground to a foreign beat. “It probably would be.”

Double doors obligingly opened wide as they approached, leading into an entirely-too-ornate hallway. They didn’t use the double doors. They used the one in the back, the one marked “For Authorized Staff Only” in big bold letters despite having been unlocked since before even Agatha’s time.

Will was waiting for them a few flights of stairs up.

He spoke nonsense from his mouth, the one that sounds emanated from physically, but mentally he was ever-so-slightly less inscrutable. _Going up?_

_Yes. Could you take us to whoever’s in charge right now? We have something to say._

_By all means._ Will bowed, and promptly escorted the pair up the rickety stairwell.

“He’s taking us to the Champion?” Erika questioned. Sometimes, Sabrina forgot that the people around her, as a general rule, didn’t read minds. Generally it only served to frustrate her.

With Erika, though, such cluelessness was almost endearing. “It’s safe to assume so, at least.”

The androgynous man led them to Bruno’s room, “decorated” in the same sort of sparse sense that it had always been. The fighting-type specialist himself sat at the other end of the room, legs crossed, meditating.

At the pair’s indecision, Will spoke up. _What are you waiting for?_

After nudging Erika, Sabrina found herself falling into pace with her as they moved to disturb the sleeping giant in front of them. As they approached, he opened first one eye, and then another, leveling a steely gaze at the two trainers in front of him. They stopped five feet in front of him, and as they did so he stood, bidding Will off with a flick of his hand, the performer bowing and slinking to the doorway only a few seconds later.

“What brings you here today?” His tone was calm, deathly so, and Sabrina thought that in another time he might make a good spokesperson, maybe, if he could get over his shyness.

“I’m sure you know what it is we’re here to discuss,” Erika retorted, and her mask must have been on especially tight today because Sabrina swore she could see fire in her eyes even as she knew her bravado was only an illusion.

“Team Chimera.”

“Yes.” The two were staring at each other like wolves circling each other, trying to force each other to heel with only their eyes. “We’ve received troubling reports of what’s going on there, recently.”

“I assume this has to do with you?” Bruno’s stare moved itself to the psychic.

She didn’t flinch, but only because she knew that what he was thinking was very different from what he was showing. “It does. It concerns the hybridization process they’d been working on, primarily.”

“How so?”

“Beforehand, we had assumed it only worked, or was used on, pokemon.” Erika took over the conversation, much to Sabrina’s relief. Spending another minute forcing herself to say the right words when she was utterly incapable of doing such would ruin her in the face of such a man. “Sabrina discovered that they’d been testing on others.”

While he was a man of great conviction, Bruno could be painfully, painfully dense at times, given how earnestly he asked his next question. “What others would those be?”

“Humans.”

The steady soundtrack of Will’s inane mumbling stopped behind them, just as Sabrina knew that Bruno’s thoughts had come to a screeching halt. “…Continue,” the man eventually recovered enough to say, even though she knew he wasn’t quite ready to start processing information again.

“The disappearances of Eusine and Falkner, we believe, are related to such projects. Silver was found captive there as well, his conversion underway. Given the speeches and diatribes Sabrina’s listened in on, we can assume they’ve been merged not with each other but with pokemon. The human personalities are known to be warped by such a process. We have no idea how the pokemon’s mind reacts to the procedure.” She didn’t need to read Erika’s thoughts to know that behind her steady voice, she was anything but composed.

She didn’t need to read Bruno’s thoughts to know the same, but she did so anyways. “…Those… That… Unforgivable, the lot of them.” Only his built-in composure prevented him from crying out in anger. Soon, Sabrina knew, he’d lose control of even that.

“We know what we’re asking you to believe is hard to wrap your mind around,” Erika continued, because if she stopped for even just a moment she may never start again, “But it is the truth nonetheless. We have... are _dealing_ with an enemy with abilities we haven’t ever seen. Team Rocket was nothing compared to this. Team Neo-Rocket was nothing compared to this. Maybe Team Galactic eclipsed them in terms of power, but they were far less subtle, far more inept when it came to leadership.” Erika’s voice soared as she continued to speak, reaching a dizzying crescendo which she knew captivated everyone in the room. “We are dealing with a foe the likes of which we’ve never so much as _thought of_ , much less seen. This isn’t a run-of-the-mill team. This is something far, far worse.”

There was silence after her diatribe, everyone seemingly stopping to catch their breath and let the news sink in before responding.

Will was the first to act. _Damn, ice queen. Nice catch._

It took all of Sabrina’s willpower to not kill him where he stood.

\--

Bruno’d agreed to relay the information to the rest of Indigo’s Gym Leaders, and to the Champion when they got the chance. “We’ll make a plan,” he’d said, words shaking even as his face was frozen. “We have to, for this sort of thing. Then we’ll act.”

Everyone in the room knew they didn’t have the time to make one.

Rudimentary plans were easier. Rudimentary plans were quicker to make, generally involved only a few people, and led directly to one specific goal and left all the other details fuzzy intentionally.

Rudimentary plans wouldn’t work against Chimera. Nonetheless, it was a very rudimentary plan indeed that brought the pair of emotionally stunted women (that was what they were, Sabrina thought, in a rare moment of clarity) to Mahogany Town’s foremost and only clinic, looking for the most high-profile patient the area had on offer.

Pryce had been knocked unconscious some days ago, caught in the crossfire of a fight he’d never quite had the mettle to be in.

He was still asleep when they arrived.

He’d been released from the hospital hours ago, cleared with nothing more than a broken leg, and yet still he remained asleep. That was good, or so the nurses said. Just meant he’d recover healthier.

The thoughts behind their nervous smiles said otherwise.

Pryce’s cabin would have been unreachable by normal means, an unremarkable structure in the middle of a sprawling fortress closer to the waste that was Blackthorn than anything else. With a psychic pokemon on your side, “unreachable” really was just a synonym for “five seconds away, assuming favorable conditions for your mode of transportation.”

His door was locked. If he hadn’t been asleep for the past, oh, several dozen hours, that wouldn’t be a problem. As it was, though, it required Erika to fumble with lockpicking skills she only half-remembered and had hated since the moment she got them.

Her family hadn’t gotten its reputation solely because they were skilled appeasers, after all.

A few drops of a concoction Sabrina didn’t recognize and didn’t particularly care to solved a problem medical professionals twice their age had ignored for fear of making the hysteria already coursing through Johto like poison through a dying man’s veins worse. The old man gasped as he awoke, eyes wide and reaching for something in the distance; whatever the conditions that brought him to sleep were, they weren’t happy ones.

“Oh,” he’d said after a moment. “It’s just you two. Erina, Sabine?”

“Erika and Sabrina.”

“Oh. Right. Can’t tell the difference between half of you anyways, what’s a little problem with names going to do to me.” He sighed, deeply, then midway through started at something only he really knew about, before muttering a word that served as more of a lead on what made Chimera tick than anything Sabrina had found through a week working under them. “Eusine.”

“…What about him?” Erika eventually got out after successfully biting back her shock.

“He’s a fucking _Suicune_ now, that’s what.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by LonelyRollingStar.


	19. Dreamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rubs hands evilly*

“It’s just me.” Silver tipped his head to the side. Had he any hair, this could have come off as melodramatic.

“Jazz!” Flint cried. “He’s dangerous!”

It wasn’t as if that wasn’t already clear, but Flint was known as one of the best in Sinnoh, a region that already housed some of the strongest trainers on the planet. That same Flint had just lost his cool, and that was what scared his allies the most.

Flint wasn’t staring at Silver, though. He could see past him into the front lawn.

Jasmine glanced to the right, where Volkner was still passed out under a book. Through her teeth, she grunted, “Volkner! Wake up!”

Silver casually walked up to her. “Come on, *Jazz*.” He glanced around. “...Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to fill your house with ice, but you know me...”

Flint glanced between Silver encroaching on Jasmine, and their other visitors outside, hesitant to choose one or the other to fight.

“You...” Jasmine inched towards Volkner. “Stay away from him.”

Silver laughed. “What did I do? Walk too close to Mr. Toaster?”

“Volkner!” Jasmine urged under her breath.

While Flint wanted to go after Silver, he knew that there was an equal or greater threat awaiting him outside. “Sorry!” He called out, dashing outside into the middle of what he knew was an ambush.

“Oh? You’re trying to wake him up?” Silver knelt down next to Volkner. “Let me help.”

Jasmine tackled Silver, in a last-ditch effort to protect the electric-type gym leader. The more hidden aspect of her pleas disappeared. “Volkner, I swear to god!!”

Volkner was startled awake. “Wha?”

Silver’s claw was encased in ice once again as he used Jasmine’s momentum to propel himself into a flip and kick Jasmine into the air. He spun around, creating a dome of ice that separated himself, Volkner and Jasmine from the outside world. The air temperature dropped instantly, and as Jasmine slid along the ice wall and back down to the floor, she felt her body start to go numb. Volkner stood up on the slippery surface easily, having been raised in icy Sinnoh, and pulled out a pokéball. “Luxray!”

The black-and-blue lion appeared in a flash of light accompanied by bubbled letters reading “Lux!”

Jasmine would have snickered at the seal if not for the situation.

As Flint crossed the threshold, he dug into his Afro, pulling out two pokéballs and tossing them in front of him. “It’s time to get serious!”

Flint, Magmortar and Infernape stood back to back in a triangle, surrounded by six Team Chimera grunts and an extra admin. “Infernape, you take the ones on my right! Magmortar, line up the water and rock types. You know what to do!”

“Uh-oh! *Somebody’s* trying to fi-ight!” a man with unruly hair and a different outfit announced, a trill in his voice. “Standing in the middle, are we?”

Flint didn’t respond. A feeling that this wouldn’t end well weighed in his stomach, and he couldn’t afford to miss any aid he could give his Pokémon. He practically ignored the admin.

Infernape weathered a dazzling gleam from an Altaria-Clefable hybrid, shielding its eyes with its arm. The hybrid readied itself for another attack, and Infernape used the moment to change its angle and get an opportunity attack in with a flare blitz.

Magmortar faced off with an Omastar-Krookodile hybrid, dodging to the left of a hydro pump and charging up its own solar beam. It ducked as this hybrid leapt closer, swiping across from the left, and let loose a beam of supereffective light.

“He-ey.” The Team Chimera admin stepped up to Flint, getting at least half of his attention. “*Talk to me.*”

“You wanna talk?” Flint asked Infernape and Magmortar if they thought they could handle it with a simple glance. They seemed to think so. Flint had permission to divert his energies.

“You seem smart. Got a personality?”

“What?”

“You’ll make a good fit,” the malice in that voice was unmistakable.

“To what?” Flint asked.

The admin reached out and booped him on the nose just to watch him recoil, and chirped in a falsetto: “*my collection*!”

Infernape ducked between two hybrids trying to back it into a corner, trying to fight them one-on-one. Magmortar put a wall of fire between itself and the hybrid Pokémon trying to attack it.

Inside, things were just as tense, but much less chaotic; Jasmine could hear the fighting going on outside, but had to trust that Flint was okay.

Silver looked a little bit more on the tired side, but Jasmine’s Magneton, Floaty, and Volkner’s Luxray were definitely on their last legs. They’d figured out that Silver replaced the ice just as fast as it was broken— letting Rusty (the Steelix) out now would destroy the room outside the ice, so it really wasn’t a likeable option for escape. Jasmine was shivering badly, since she and her clothing were meant for Johto, and though Volkner had a lot more resistance he was really starting to feel the cold too. It felt like— no, was— a freezer.

Floaty’s electric attack had some effect on Silver, but it was quickly swatted out of the air, smashing into the ice. This time, Silver made sure to encase it. Luxray was also covered in ice, though it had freed itself from being frozen multiple times at this point.

“Calm down,” A pillar of ice shot out of the floor, launching Luxray towards the wall when it approached. “It’ll help the cold.” Silver’s loose gaze swept over the huddled couple. “Jasmine. Come on! The less you fight, the easier it’ll be for me. You’re coming with, either way...”

Jasmine patted her empty pockets, unexpected exhaustion pulling at her. “The rest of my Pokémon are in the other room...”

Volkner checked his jacket. “Same, except for Lux and Raichu...” He did a double-take on Jasmine. He pulled off his jacket and tossed it to Jasmine. “Luxray, can you hold Silver off?”

Luxray barked back affirmatively despite how strikingly incorrect that was. It understood what Volkner was trying to do.

“Jasmine, let out Steelix.”

“What?”

“What else can we do?”

Jasmine pulled her arms through the oversized sleeves. The jacket felt heavy. “...You’re right. Sorry, Rusty. Sorry, house...”

Outside, Flint glanced around warily. “Your collection?” Suddenly, he noticed it out of the corner of his eye: a creature that looked like an Absol, but with a version of a Musharna’s dream mist pouring out of its head in a black cloud.

“Infernape! Magmortar!” Flint called out. “Change of plans! Make as much of a show as you can! Make sure they can see you from Olivine proper!”

Infernape and Magmortar exchanged a glance before Infernape howled at the top of its lungs and Magmortar sent a pillar of fire skyward.

“We’re not going down that easy!” Flint leapt back, trying to get as much distance from the black mist as he could. “Infernape, Magmortar, stay away from that thing! It’s part Musharna!” That particular species had always been infamous for how easily it could be misused— Flint was no stranger to stories about the pink Pokémon.

The Team Chimera admin pointed at Flint. “Dreamy, it’s time for a *feast*! Him, first— dream eater!”

The creature snarled and bounded towards Flint with the speed of an Absol.

Shoot. Flint knew that as fast as adrenaline could make a guy, no human could outrun an Absol.

The hybrid tackled him, and the world around him smeared into a mess of color.

There was a loud creaking noise inside as Rusty was summoned in inside of the ice dome.

Silver was fast at freezing things, but Rusty was even faster as destroying things. The ice collapsed with no hope of upkeep, and the air quickly returned to a normal temperature as the front wall of the house was also demolished.

“Hmph.” Silver growled, shying away from the sunlight.

Unexpectedly, a ringing noise came from within Silver’s jacket. He pulled a phone out, answering it without taking his eyes off of the duo. “What? Okay, Min.”

Silver shrugged. “They’re changing tactics. Cowards.” He lunged at Jasmine, grabbing her with one arm and putting up a single wall of ice between himself and Volkner.

Rusty moved quickly to try and stop him, but at this point Silver was trying to run, not fight, and he made it outside in instants. Several beams of wood got wedged between a couple of Rusty’s vital segments, and it found itself mostly immobilized.

Outside, Flint and his Pokémon stood with blank expressions on their faces.

Jasmine continued to kick at Silver. “Volkner! Flint!”

Volkner, inside, was just emerging from the doorway to help.

“*Dreamy, dear*!” The admin’s sing-songy voice was getting unsettling.

The Absol-Musharna hybrid perked up.

“Wipe him.” It followed the point of the admin’s finger towards Volkner.

Silver watched nonchalantly as it tackled Volkner’s underutilized frame to the ground.

“Overdose him. You have some energy from the redhead’s nightmare, right?” The admin, who Silver recognized as Manticore, ordered.

“Ya sure?” Minnie approached from behind. “You’re gonna blow our cover. They’ll know we’ve been wipin’ people.”

“Psssh. Cover schmover.” Manticore grinned wildly. “Does it even matter anymore? We’re gods!”

“Let me go!” Jasmine kicked at Silver again.

Rusty roared.

“Oi, Silver.” Minnie summoned her new pet. “I’ll take ‘er. Can you get inside and nab all her Pokémon?”

Silver rolled his eyes. “Hmph. If you say so...”

Leaving Minnie holding Jasmine like a baby, he sped off into the house, evading another attack from Rusty.

Dreamy pinned Volkner to the ground by his shoulder and leaned down so it was face-to-face with the gym leader. A thick black cloud enveloped the two. Volkner tried to hold his breath and struggle, but quickly ran out of air, breathing in the thick smoke instead of oxygen. Suffocating, he breathed in even more of the toxic gas, crying out as every sense started to sting and flash like he was staring into the sun. Dreamy relished the moment, psychically draining Volkner of as much willpower as it could.

Jasmine continued fighting, especially watching what happened to Volkner, but was considerably weaker than the buff Minnie. “Volkner! Volkner, get up! Please!”

“Let’s go,” Minnie motioned to the van. “Silver, you got ‘em?!”

Minnie dumped Jasmine into the back of the van, after grabbing a cable and tying her up like a bundle of thin sticks. The grunts poured into the same space, surrounding her.

A couple moments passed, and Silver emerged, awkwardly clutching what he could in his claws and ducking underneath an iron bite to make it out.

Oxygen-starved, Volkner eventually went limp, and at that point, Dreamy backed off, satisfied.

“Come on, Silver!” Minnie called out. “Quicker!”

Manticore glanced at Flint, who still stood in a daze. “Hey, can we take the guy with the Afro, too?”

“The Afro? He don’t look like he’s from Johto.” Minnie watched Silver deposit the pokéballs into a box in the back. “...‘Kay, Manticore. One more target, Silver.”

Silver’s shoulders drooped. “Fiiiiiiiine.”

They grabbed Flint, tied him up just as unceremoniously, and dropped him next to Jasmine, glassy eyes staring off into nothing as if he were dead. Jasmine went silent.

Silver climbed in, too, upset that his what little space he’d had in the van was now taken up by two kidnappees.

The van doors shut, and Team Chimera took off, Minnie driving quickly but legally to avoid suspicion. Even as they drove past a pack of worried-looking gym leaders, they were practically unnoticed.

* * *

Said gym leaders arrived at Jasmine’s house to a scene of destruction.

Bugsy froze. “Wh—?”

Whitney surveyed the scene. “What happened?”

The group had seen Flint’s flaming signal from their hotel, and rushed over as fast as they could.

Janine shuddered. “This was them, wasn’t it?”

Steelix was most of the way through the wall by now, but was trapped with all of the debris still wedged between its segments. Volkner lay on the ground, unconscious. The front lawn was covered in scorch marks, divots, and other signs of battle. Tire tracks led away from the scene, and it finally occurred to Bugsy that the van the four of them had seen and ignored in panic was Team Chimera’s escape car. Not only had they just barely been too late, but they’d ignored the car that might have held Jasmine.

Koga walked over to Volkner, kneeling down. “...Who wants to take him to the Center?”

Whitney and Bugsy exchanged a glance.

Koga stood up, his reclusive gaze sweeping the group of scared kids. Suddenly, he felt nervous. What was he doing taking care of impressionable youngsters? What was that Karen had told him about dealing with young people? Assert your dominance?

Koga tried to puff out his chest, which didn’t work very well, and tried to make his cracked and underutilized voice sound even the least bit authoritative. “Whitney, Bugsy, you two take Volkner to Olivine. Be careful. Janine and I will search the house for—“ Koga’s voice cracked and Bugsy winced— “anyone else inside.”

Janine nodded, a determined look alighting on her face. She dashed off into the house, and while Koga beseeched her to stop, it seemed he held no power over his own daughter. He followed her inside submissively.

“He looks heavy,” Whitney bounced over to Volkner’s living corpse. “Should we try to wake him up?”

Bugsy hesitated. *Should* they try to wake him up? “Uh...” He looked over Volkner. He wasn’t wearing his jacket, and he looked clammy. “Maybe? Mr. V-Volkner...”

No response.

“M-maybe I should shake him?” Bugsy murmured, crouching down and putting a hand on Volkner’s shoulder. Bugsy recoiled, finding it to be feverishly hot. “Ah!”

“I didn’t realize you had that much vocal range,” Whitney continued, raising her voice, “Hey! Volkner! Wake up!”

Volkner was still unresponsive.

She grabbed him under the arms, sliding him up against a relatively unruined stretch of wall so that he could be a bit more upright. “Ew, he’s sorta sweaty. Really hot, too.” She released the demon from its pokéball. “Miltank!” Whitney struck the pose. “Use heal bell!”

Miltank echoed the pose, and a musical chime sounded out.

A muffled, Koga-voiced “what are they doing?” came from the other side of the wreckage.

Volkner looked a little better for wear.

“Hey, Mr. Volkner?” Bugsy followed up.

“Hey, Sinnoh guy!” Whitney shouted.

Volkner startled awake, leaning forward a little. He stared at the ground at Whitney’s feet, eyes wide with a blank yet frightened expression.

“Are you okay?” Bugsy asked.

Volkner didn’t reply. He began shaking, struggling vehemently for breath.

“Mr. Volkner?”

Volkner said something in return, but it was a garbled mess of unknown words. Whitney and Bugsy exchanged a worried glance. It sounded like he was distressed about something, but communicating with him was about as easy as getting information from a wild Pokémon.

“Can you walk?” Bugsy asked.

In response, Volkner curled up, drawing his knees under his arms and hiding his face in that. He gave a short, defensive response full of remorse.

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what you’re saying, Bugsy,” Whitney returned the bovine horror to the safety of her jacket pocket.

Bugsy looked unsure for a second, but did what he did best: act like wild Pokémon. Without using words, he simply took Volkner’s hand, pulling on it and smiling.

Volkner withdrew before slowly standing. His body quickly gave out, and he fell.

Bugsy was suddenly reminded of Morty’s symptoms on the day of Eusine’s death.

He slung one of Volkner’s arms over his shoulder and quickly found that he was considerably shorter, and therefore not of much help.

Whitney was taller than Bugsy, but not much more so.

Awkwardly, the two of them half-dragged Volkner down to the Pokémon Center, where the Joy was well-trained enough not to question Bugsy and Whitney on anything other than patient symptoms and identity, but apparently wasn’t knowledgeable enough to recognize Volkner.

Volkner was quickly shuttled into one of the ERs for drug testing.

Bugsy looked unsure. “What do we do now?”

Whitney looked towards the door. “Go back. Koga and Janine might not be able to take everyone if Volkner’s not the only one like this...” Under her breath, she added, “Although, if Karen’s dying, that might be a good thing.”

Bugsy nodded, and Whitney led the way. They thought there was a lot of glare through the door, which was Bugsy’s explanation for why the two of them walked into someone on the way in.

The other person definitely had more mass, and while they just stopped, Bugsy was knocked backwards a couple steps.

“Bugsy?” Morty asked. “Whitney?”

* * *

When Morty and Eusine had first approached Olivine that day, Eusine had pointed out that he was probably a bit of a sore thumb here. After all, he had a muzzle...

“I shouldn’t go in,” Eusine glanced at the town, half-hiding behind a tree. “I’m already a target...”

Morty returned Drifblim to its pokéball. “Where‘ll you go?”

Eusine smoothed down his mane a little. “I’ll head straight to Jasmine’s house, through the woods. If no one’s there, I might hang around there until you meet me?”

Morty was hesitant to let Eusine out of his sight. “I can just call them...”

“You might as well go the rest of the way. We’ve come this far...”

“All right... I’ll head to the Pokémon Center. I can find them from there... If I go anywhere else, I’ll call you and let you know.”

Eusine chuckled. “Okay, Spooks.”

A quick peck and Morty set off towards the Center.

That was when he ran into Bugsy and Whitney, much to his surprise. Bugsy and Whitney didn’t seem like the type to stay at a scene overnight. Scratch that— Whitney didn’t seem like the type. Bugsy absolutely was.

“Bugsy? Whitney?”

“Morty, you’re here!” Bugsy squeaked.

“I thought I’d see what happened. Is Jasmine in there?” Morty leaned to look past the two other gym leaders.

“No,” Whitney replied. “She’s, uh... We don’t know. There were signs of a fight at her house...”

“Koga and Janine are searching the house for other casualties!” Bugsy squeaked. “We found Volkner in... A state.”

Whitney looked a little unnerved before continuing to walk. “We’re headed back, in case Koga finds anyone else we need to carry.”

“Carry? Volkner?” Morty processed some of the information. “Wait. What was Volkner doing here in Olivine?”

“He and Flint came over because of Jasmine.” Bugsy had to skip-run to keep up with Whitney. “Volkner and Flint are here?” Morty adjusted his scarf, following them hesitantly. “I’ve heard a lot about those two...”

”Come on, Bugsy,” Whitney urged.

“Yeah. Morty, come with us!” Bugsy gestured for the ghost-type leader to join.

“Okay,” Morty pulled out his Pokégear. “I need to make a call on the way.”

“A call? To who?”

“Gossip,” Whitney grinned, breaking out into a high-bouncing skip. “Ooh!”

“A...” As much as it hurt Morty to say something so insignificant about Eusine, there was a time and place for this reveal, and it was not this very moment. “Friend.” Maybe once they were out of town... While these two weren’t the *most* trustworthy, they’d been around this issue for long enough.

Morty dialed in the number of his long-time boyfriend, making sure to hide the contact name from Whitney and Bugsy. “Hi. I’m with Whitney and Bugsy right now...”

Eusine cleared his throat, then replied in his best impression of Pryce, “okay. Where the fuck are you going?”

It took everything Morty had not to laugh. “Jasmine’s house, now. I hear there was a fight there. Be careful.”

“Yes.” He paused, and added for effect, “Fuck.”

“Was that Pryce?” Bugsy asked, a little shaken.

“Er,” Morty noticed that Bugsy’s reaction implied something had happened to Pryce. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s not dead, right?” Whitney asked Bugsy.

Bugsy shook his head. “No... Karen said it was just a coma.”

Morty’s heart sank. Pryce was one of the competent ones!

The group arrived back at the mutilated casa-de-Jasmine, and Morty nearly stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the rubble and scorch marks. Koga had managed to get Rusty back into its pokéball, and had found the only other current occupant of the house: Karen.

It turned out that she had no clue what had happened.

“Slept like a baby,” she said. A fight and kidnapping hadn’t even stirred her. In fact, she was pretty sure the screams of anguish had *helped* her sleep.

Koga wasn’t so enthused. “You slept through everything?”

The Steelix-sized hole in the front of the house loomed overhead.

“Yep.”

“And Flint and Jasmine are gone?”

“Yep.”

“And Volk—“

“Yep.” Karen tossed some hair over her shoulder. “My beauty sleep is important.”

Meanwhile, Bugsy and Whitney averted their eyes awkwardly— Karen was entirely naked.

Luxray, inside, was pretty beat up. It looked like it had fought an ice type. It was the same with Magneton, which Janine had to remove from the ice by using a spoon as an ice pick.

Morty, like leaders #2 and 3, was also a little distracted from the conversation; he was looking around to see if he could spot Eusine in the trees.

There! He motioned with his hands that everyone present could be trusted, and that Eusine should approach.

“What’re you looking at?” Bugsy followed Morty’s gaze into the woods.

Eusine bounded forward on all fours. It wasn’t worth it to walk on just two legs...

Bugsy’s shrill squeal rang out as he jumped aside, a little fearful that he was going to get run over and more fearful of the thing that was going to do it.

Eusine arrived, stood, and brushed off his hands, with Bugsy shying away.

“That was fast,” Morty said dumbly. Eusine could run on all fours?

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be bipedal...” Eusine replied. “Who’s here? Just the— oh, Arceus, Karen’s naked.”

“Oh, shit, she is,” Morty suddenly noticed Karen’s lack of clothing.

Eusine was once again endeared by Morty’s apparent oblivion.

Karen marched up to Eusine. “You’re Eusine?”

Eusine met her coldly. “Wear clothes in front of my boyfriend, please.”

“Why?” Karen grinned. “He’s our little rainbow boy.”

“Little?” Morty murmured. He used his hand to compare his height to Karen, finding that he was shorter and frowning.

“He deserves better than to see this.” Eusine ignored Karen’s reaction of partially-fake-indignance. He turned his shoulder, giving the clear impression that Eusine was actively shunning Karen. “What’s going on?” He asked Morty.

He shrugged. “I just got here. I know as much as you...”

“Wait!” Bugsy stepped in. “I know it’s not really the time for this, but, uh, is Eusine a dog?”

Eusine exchanged a look with Morty and snickered. “I guess you could put it that way?”

“This was Team Chimera’s doing,” Morty started explaining.

“Is this what happened to everyone who was kidnapped?” Karen asked.

There was a pause as Eusine gave Karen the most apathetic look he could muster. “Falkner’s a giant bird, now. He’s allied with Chimera. He came after me near Mahogany...”

“Did you see that icicle?” Bugsy motioned with his hands to demonstrate the shape.

Eusine smoothed his mane for a dramatic flair, grinning. “I made the icicle.”

Bugsy’s face lit up.

“Flint and Jasmine are gone,” Koga diverted the conversation. “After the earlier incident, we can assume it was Team Chimera...” He looked a little lost for words.

“Earlier incident?” Everyone looked at Eusine when he asked, as if it were strange he didn’t know. “Sorry, I’ve been part of society again for about 15 hours...”

Koga experienced some voice crack as he clarified. “Team Chimera said Jasmine was next when they took Silver.”

“Silver?” Eusine tipped his head. “Yo. He was chill. You’d be surprised how good he was at tea-making. So, he and Jasmine are...?”

“We, uh... We didn’t know before now... What they were doing to them. Are you a... Pokémon-human hybrid?”

“I... I guess?” Eusine looked down at himself self-consciously. “People keep saying I look like Suicune.”

Janine finally arrived from within the house carrying Jasmine’s Magneton in a block of ice. She saw Eusine, stammered, and dropped Magneton on her foot. “Ack!” She leapt away, before bashfully returning to Jasmine’s Pokémon and picking it up. “Y-you’re a Pokémon. But you’re talking.”

“Yeah?” Eusine looked at Morty. “For boyfriend purposes, though, I’m human.”

Janine did a quadruple-take between the couple. “Wait. Morty’s already moved on?”

Morty facepalmed. “Oh, my unnamed deity.”

Janine pouted. “I thought we were gonna go avenge our boyfriends together!”

”What?” Eusine raised an eyebrow ridge.

“Eheh...” Morty pulled on his scarf. “It’s been a weird couple of weeks.”

“I’ll say,” Eusine noticed Morty adjusting his clothing, and adjusted his own jacket.

“Do you know what happened to Falkner? Is he okay?”

Eusine‘s expression went blank for a moment as he was bombarded with violent scenes from 3 days ago, accompanied by the gunfire-like sounds of combat. “Well...”

* * *

Flint slowly started to realize he was conscious as he heard muffled, garbled voices speaking about something... Somewhere.

Ugh, where was he? His neck was all stiff now! He opened his eyes, fully coming to. His head still felt really fuzzy for some reason... Oh! The fight, and... Oh, yeah. One whiff of that mist and he’d been whisked away to his worst nightmare. Well, no time to think about what he saw. He was bound up in a chair! The room seemed smallish, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

A voice outside came through the wall. Flint was pretty sure they said something along the lines of “he’s awake,” but he wasn’t sure. Actually, it was hard to be sure of anything, especially speech. He could hear it well enough, but it took a couple tries to get the words to register. He was feeling a couple other things that he could liken to a drug hangover, and knew he’d been given something. Maybe it was that mist?

There were a couple band-aids with My Little Ponyta designs on them stuck to his arm. Maybe they’d injected him with something else, too, but from the way he felt he was pretty sure there was only one drug in his system. He regretted knowing these things, but at least it was useful now.

The door opened, and a woman with curly hair walked in. “Hi! I’m Dr.—“ The last part was even harder to understand.

“Dr. what?” Flint asked. “Sorry, I dunno what’s up, but I didn’t catch that.”

“Griffon.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, that’s totally normal. I remember this one guy who we overdosed as a test— couldn’t speak or understand words for a week! After that, he just had issues talking, but they’ve been resolving since then, so— that isn’t what you’re here for, though. I need to know who you are.”

“Who I am?” Flint repeated, to make sure he heard that correctly. She nodded, and he answered, “The name’s Flint.”

“Flint?” Dr. Griffon paused. “I’ve heard that before somewhere. Are you not from Johto?”

“No, ma’am.” Flint shook his head, which made him feel dizzy. “I’m visiting from Sinnoh!”

“Sinn— oh.” Griffon looked him over. “You’re Flint from the Sinnoh Elite Four, aren’t you?”

“Yeah! Glad to meet a fan!”

“One second,” Griffon turned to walk towards the door. “I have to tell Minnie...”

“Okay.”

The door closed behind Griffon, and Flint heard her say something to someone, who immediately began freaking out.

The conversation went something along the lines of this person— presumably “Minnie”— telling someone named “Manticore” off for bringing back someone who wasn’t from Johto.

Flint’s thoughts, still unusually jumbled, drifted to the objects in the room. His arm had two band-aids on it, presumably from injections or blood drawing. The band-aids featured Flapplejack and Pinkie Puff, two characters from My Little Ponyta. Flint had quietly adored the franchise for a very long time.

“He is good, though.” Manticore replied. “No wonder he’s not from this awful region.”

“Do you want the Sinnoh League on our backs? Barry? *Cynthia*?” Minnie nearly shrieked. “Oh, we have to send him back.”

“Oh, you’re pacing. I haven’t seen you pace in awhile!” Manticore laughed.

Minnie was not enthused. “Only because you’re such an idiot!”

“Griffon?”

“Yeah?” Dr. Griffon’s voice was soft.

“Can you go talk to him again? Despite all that, he may be worth keeping around...”

Minnie was perfervid.

“Okay, I will.” Griffon opened the door.

Outside, it sounded like someone else had arrived and tried to calm Minnie down. Based on voice, it was that creature that looked like a Weavile... Had Jazz called him Silver?

“Dr...” Flint trailed off. His name recollection was also foggy.

“Griffon.”

“Griffon, these band-aids... Did you pick them?”

Griffon hesitated. Flint could tell that she seemed to understand just as well as he did that the MLP fandom was something of a secret society because of the social stigma of being an adult Bronyta. “...I thought they looked cute.”

Based on the hesitation, Flint realized that she was probably hiding the same secret he was. There was one test he could do. A call only a fellow Bronyta could answer. “...Winter wrap up, winter wrap up...” He kept his voice monotoned, saying it straight so that someone who’d never heard the song wouldn’t understand.

There was a silence. Then, a slow, unsure aria escaped Dr. Griffon’s chest: “Let’s finish our holiday cheer...”

“Winter wrap up, winter wrap up,” Flint continued, speeding up and adding melody until it was practically the original.

Euphoria exploded in Griffon’s eyes as the two of them sung the next line in unison: “‘Cause tomorrow Spring is here!”

Outside, the Weavile-man groaned audibly.

Griffon grinned. It was genuine, Flint could tell. “What’s your break point?” She asked.

“Latest episode. Never left,” Flint reciprocated, happy to have someone to talk to about this secret passion. “I assume it’s the same for you?”

“I’m two episodes behind,” Griffon adjusted her glasses. “It’s been a pretty busy couple of weeks.”

“Oh, man,” Flint leaned back. “It’s a ride. Not so much as Carbink Kingdom, though. Can you believe that the baby’s an Alicorn?”

“I know! I love how the design is based off a Rufflet, though. It’s subversive— you expect Vullaby, but then—“

“Bam! I know!” Flint nodded enthusiastically. “Don’t get me started on the Noibat special.”

“Oh, my gosh! Flutterfree as a dragon-type is such a cool concept!” Griffon sighed. “All the anthros are a little creepy, though... Some of the art looks nice, but others are...”

Flint winced. “Yeah. There’s definitely a bad side to the fandom.”

“Not that I’m opposed to anthros or anything!” Griffon said rather loudly. It seemed she wanted the people outside to hear. “...I don’t want to offend either of those boys,” she explained. “They’re so sweet... Especially Falkner.”

Flint was about to respond with his vague, uninformed opinions on Falkner when he remembered Falkner’s fate, followed by where he actually was. “...Anthros.”

Griffon froze, registering that Flint was now distracted by the fact that he was being held prisoner by an evil organization. “You know, it’s not terrible being a hybrid.”

“I’ve seen some of those ‘hybrids,’ and I don’t mean any offense—“

“None taken.”

“But they’re a little...” Flint didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he was also completely against the organization she worked for. “They’re sort of monsters.”

Griffon’s gaze slid to the floor. “...Let me show you something. Dreamy!”

“Are you going to wipe him now?” Minnie asked eagerly, poking her head in through the door.

“No!” Griffon called back. She watched as the Absol-Musharna hybrid from before slunk in, a thin trail of black mist seeping from the side of its head into a cloud. “Dreamy. You know the rule. No black mist unless we tell you, especially inside. It’s dangerous, remember?”

The flow of black mist cut off slowly, and Dreamy had a guilty look on its face.

“Good girl,” Griffon knelt down, beckoning.

Dreamy started producing a translucent, whitish mist and bounded into Griffon’s arms. Griffon gave it a hug, scritching it under the chin. “Oh, baby. Good girl.” Griffon looked up at Flint. “This is Dreamy. She’s been with us a long time...”

Dreamy chirped happily, but it sounded more like a distorted moan.

“Her mist is very potent, which you already know.” Griffon pushed her glasses up, standing. “Obviously.”

“Yeah...”

“It’s only the black mist that does things like that... Her other colors just make you feel things, or they smell nice. Right, Dreamy?”

Again, a happy yet distorted moan. Dreamy circled Flint, approaching from behind and sniffing his hand. Flint tried not to shy away, but after the earlier nightmare Dreamy had shown him, it was difficult.

Griffon noticed the response. “Did Dreamy make you remember something in the mist?”

“I’d...” Flint tried to clear his head. It wasn’t working. “Rather not talk about it.”

Griffon searched his eyes. “...Sorry about that. Dreamy’s a bit of a snoop. Aren’t you, Dreamy?”

Dreamy nodded.

“Flint, you seem like a nice guy.” Griffon looked a little wistful. “Under different circumstances, we might have already been friends by now. And there might not have been anything between us. I don’t know whether you’ll be staying here or not, but... Just in case you get wiped, do you want to exchange phone numbers?”

“Huh?”

Griffon laughed nervously. “No one else here watches MLP...” She trailed off. “And, it would be nice to be able to talk again, anyway... We’re always open to someone like you. You’re really cool.”

“Aw, thanks. I’m flattered.” Flint glanced around. “Ah, what the heck. Sure, let’s trade numbers. Where’s my phone?”

“It’s—“ Griffon froze before melting. “Aaah! I totally forgot! It had a tracker, so we had to dismantle it, or something... I’ll help you pay for a new one or something, but...” Griffon reached into her breast pocket, removing a miniature notebook and pen. She scribbled something down on it, ripped out the tiny page, and folded it up. She stuck it in Flint’s pocket, where it wasn’t visible from the outside. “Don’t tell anyone, ok? I don’t know what’s going to happen, but either way, let’s start off on the right foot.”

She walked to the door, opened it, and said, “Personally, I like him! Well?”

Minnie and Manticore seemed to have very different ideas in this scenario.

“We can’t get involved!” Minnie argued.

Manticore grinned. “Did you see how much Rosie and Flint’s conversation—“

Minnie stared Manticore down.

“Griffon and Flint bothered Silver?” He was nearly hysterical. “That was amazing! I want to see more of that. I’ll take him!”

“It’s a terrible idea, Manticore,” Minnie folded her arms. “We send him back.”

Dr. Griffon simply watched, not wanting to interrupt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My (Clarise's) favorite chapter.  
> Chapter by ClariseTG.


	20. The Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pryce tries to come up with a plan, Lyra carries hers out, and, deep within the depths of Clair's mind, something begins to heal.

“So, when are they supposed to be coming?”

“Soon. Arceus, do they just not teach you patience in hermit school? Between you and Lance I’m sure to have grey hairs by age forty.”

“I apologize for actually taking this somewhat seriously.”

“Oh, fuck off, Clair.”

“How I wish I could.”

In her defense, it had been about an hour since they’d gotten the message, and loitering outside one of the few places they’d identified as being a possible Chimera hideout wasn’t exactly going to help them preserve their fragile cover. Blackthorn was an objectively terrible city, yes, but she missed being able to see her breath when she sighed in disappointment. It almost felt like the universe was acknowledging her plight, when she pulled that off.

Chuck may have been a born fighter with fists, but he wasn’t one with words, given how he’d just stayed silent while playing the part of the cowardly lion every time she and Lyra clashed. He’d interrupted them by promising to bring them out for popsicles, the first time they’d argued. He hadn’t poked his nose in their disagreements since. _At least he can be taught_ , the dragon-type trainer thought.

Lyra could not be taught. Every moment she was forced to spend around the champion was one in which she issued a silent prayer for her elementary school teachers — those who hadn’t already offed themselves to escape her, anyways. Having to actually play at educating her probably would have been the death of her, and almost certainly was the death of everyone she’d dragged into her sphere with all the care and grace of a seal floundering about in the middle of a forest.

She probably would have been a lot more patient, Clair realized, if she hadn’t been eagerly awaiting the arrival of people who could save her from the group of idiots she’d seemed to have attracted like a particularly large flame attracts moths.

The people they’d been waiting for finally tumbled through the forest some minutes later, about an hour and a half too late and in Clair’s mind completely unforgivable after committing such a transgression. She hadn’t been told who they were, (Lyra had said it’d give them an “aura of mystique,” and were Clair a less temperate woman she would have decked her right then and there, knocked her on the ground and stomped on her smug little face until she couldn’t tell nose apart from ear) but one good look at their style of dress and their facial expressions told her all she needed to know.

(Briefly, she thought of the old saying of being careful what one is wishing for. Normally, she thought it was bullshit. Here, she almost felt the need to give it some sort of credence.)

“Sorry we’re late! We had a bit of a hold-up in Mahogany. Johto traffic is just ridiculous.” Misty looked every part the kind of girl she’d hated in her youth, wide smile, perfect hair, and casual clothing that made her look so effortlessly gorgeous reminding Clair unavoidably of how she’d spent most of her time on this earth possessing traits that were decidedly different from the ones the swimmer had innately.

“You’re only saying that because you’re not used to streets that don’t have lights.” Brock was more subdued. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing, in Clair’s book. She could already tell that she’d end up hating the man for his renowned inability to ever get entirely upset, feel the urge to rip him limb to limb after a genial comment when in the face of the sort of terrible horror that the dragon trainer knew awaited them.

Perhaps she was going slightly mad. Perhaps such was an entirely valid response when one had spent the last hour and a half in the presence of a woman who could be better described as a gadfly than as a human.

“Hey! Brock! You came!” Any trace of the discomfort Chuck had previously shown vanished the moment he saw the youth, slapping him on the shoulder before laughing a deep, echoing belly laugh that probably would have knocked squirrels out of trees from the sound alone.

“Wouldn’t miss this sort of thing for the world.” The ground trainer smiled at what was evidently his acquaintance’s bizarre show of affection. He was made of sterner stuff than she’d first thought, given how he was somehow still standing after five back slaps from the mountain of a man that was Chuck.

Lyra interrupted the anything-but-tearful reunion with what for her passed as a polite cough. “Nice to know I’m not the _only_ one hyped for some vigilante justice. You also down for violence, Misty?”

The water trainer replied with an energetic “Yep,” and if she knew how to pop her Ps then Clair had no doubt that she would have. “What, you’re telling me that there’s someone who isn’t ready to kick some Chimera butt?”

Well, might as well own up to this. Would deny Lyra the satisfaction of getting to make fun of her, or at least delay it. “Guess I’m the resident Eeyore here. I’ll happily own up to it, though. You morons are aware that damn near everyone who’s seen a Chimera agent is hospitalized or worse, right?”

At this, Chuck stopped, took a breath, closed his eyes, raised a single finger, and _oh god, he was experiencing an actual thought, wasn’t he._ “Actually,” and Clair struggled to not punch him at that word alone, so already she was off to a great start, “They’ve been the ones ambushing us every time we’ve engaged with them. This time, we’re ambushing them, so now we’re going to be putting half of them in the hospital. It’s basically a sure thing!”

Left with no options beside physical violence or reluctant resignation at such an intense display of idiocy, Clair chose the second action and put her head in her hands. “You know, I think he might be on to something,” Lyra whispered in her ear, and then Clair found herself leaning back toward violence.

In a way, it was nice that she got the text then. It meant that when she was inevitably thrust into the spotlight after this whole mess got resolved, she would at least not have to contend with a homicide charge.

\---

His head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. That, Pryce knew, was fairly normal given what he’d just ingested.

Didn’t mean he had to enjoy it, though. “Fucking goddamn. Did you guys somehow make that even _nastier_ in the past five years?”

“If we have, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.” Erika looked guilty for about half a second before returning her face to the stoic sort of stasis she’d probably long since coached it into holding to the exclusion of all else. “We could probably get some headache medication for it, if you’re really bothered.”

“I’ll pass. I’ve felt worse.” And complained louder. He probably could have given Gordon Ramsay a run for his money in his younger years, and everyone currently gathered at the table in sad imitation of an actually cohesive meeting knew it.

Well, two-thirds of the people did, at least. It had taken him a while to remember what the ebon-haired girl who sat across from him and spent half her time staring morosely at a wall or at the poisoner did, but once he did figure out what her deal was he felt the need to curse the ravages of age for making such not immediately obvious to the trained eye. Sabrina may have been on their side for now, but anyone with those sorts of powers was not to be trusted.

Come to think of it, neither of the girls were to be trusted, really. One hailed from the foremost family of poisoners in Kanto, and one flicked through people’s minds like pages in a book. If things hadn’t gotten so utterly deranged so quickly, he’d probably have thrown them out of his house the instant he saw them.

As it was, though, he was currently playing a morbid game of question-dodging with them, delaying the inevitable conversation to come for as long as they could. Was it the most responsible thing to do, in the moment? Probably not.

Was it much easier to just act like the text message Sabrina had gotten on the Neolithic scrap heap she called a phone had never existed? Of course.

The psychic, it had seemed, had gotten bored of waiting around a dinner table and twiddling her thumbs, for she was the first to break the minutes-long virtual silence. “I discovered something… interesting, while working as a mole.”

The very notion of her being able to speak her mind, it seemed, had gotten Erika up in arms. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to—“

“I do.” He didn’t have to read thoughts to know that the unspoken part of her reply was something along the lines of _You’re taking too much on yourself. Please, let me do the talking, just this once._

At the silence in the rest of the room, she hesitatingly picked up where she left off. “We’d thought, at first, that Chimera was holding those they’d kidnapped ransom. That was false.”

A sinking feeling of dread in the pit of Pryce’s stomach told him all he needed to know about where the conversation was headed. “So what were they doing, then?”

“Mutating them.” Yep, yep, there it was, there was the reason he would have been about five seconds away from washing his hands of the whole affair had he not essentially an entire region to run on his own. The others at the table reacted better than he did, probably, but it was only a matter of degrees, given how Sabrina’s unsteady gaze shifted to the floor and how her accomplice’s neutral expression seemed somehow even more forced than usual.

“I’ve seen that with Eusine. You’re telling me the other ones they’ve gotten are furries, now?”

“Correct.” If she had any elaborations to make, she didn’t exactly seem to be chomping at the bit to make them. Erika took over for her after about five seconds of silence, voice smooth as silk and almost pleasant enough to make Pryce think that she wasn’t internally just as shaken as the psychic seemed to be.

“We know it’s happened with Silver, at the least. From what Sabrina told me, he’s become a sort of Weavile hybrid, or was at least getting there. We can’t say the others are suffering from the same for sure, but it would line up with the previous behavior.” Almost every time she had to start a sentence she breathed deeply, for one. Nervous tics didn’t exactly manifest themselves on people who weren’t nervous.

“So, odds are, we’ve got, what, Falkner running around as a half-idiot half-whatever, and Jasmine and Flint about to join him?” He wished he could say that his voice was uncharacteristically terse, but his bluntness was entirely in-character, to his lament.

“The process takes about four days, in most cases. Some types take longer to be merged with the chosen subject than others, but that’s the average timespan.” Erika’s nervousness may not have been immediately clear, but her discomfort was; every word she spoke sounded like it had been dragged out of her mouth kicking and screaming.

To be perfectly fair to her, though, he wasn’t exactly doing much better. “Fuck,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything better to say.

“That’s a pretty accurate summation of the situation, yes.” If Erika was of a different mind, she was sure as hell better at hiding it than she had been at hiding her nerves.

\---

If anyone else was at all disturbed by how utterly convenient the placement of the sentries had been, they… well, odds were nobody else was disturbed by that. She was dealing with the Indigo League’s worst and dullest, after all. Expecting them to be able to catch on to when they were being baited was like expected a light bulb to sprout wings and fly.

“Well, well, would you look at that. Perfect fit.” Though even a cabal of blind idiots would be able to tell something was off when confronted with clothing that fit them just so salvaged from unconscious scouts, so maybe, like, one of them would voice some sort of concern. If they’d gotten incredibly lucky.

“Lucky you. I feel like I’m drowning in cloth here.” It had been decided that Lyra and Brock would be the beneficiaries of the capture of the two unlucky scouts in their path who had found out too late that the buddy system was no help against five varyingly skilled trainers armed to the teeth with league-worthy pokemon. Her Charizard in particular had made mincemeat out of the Zubat/Magnemite hybrid the girl had been sporting, to the point where he was making her reconsider the wisdom of the drills she’d set up for him in the Den. She’d mainly been focusing on clawing with him, but if his fangs could be this powerful on a regular basis….

From where she was kneeling as she tied the defeated grunts together, Misty pouted. “I’m still peeved that you guys get to go and infiltrate the base while the rest of us have to sit here and wait for more of these mooks. Brock and I are about the same size, and I can pass for a guy in a pinch.”

“Well, yeah, but I need someone who can tie knots here and someone responsible enough to watch these two losers.” Lyra was struggling with the rather elaborate piece of headgear the female grunt had worn as she spoke, gesticulating wildly in the direction of Chuck and Clair with her right hand and trying to feel her way through the maddeningly hideous collection of straps attached to the helmet with her left. After much trial and error and a few seconds’ consideration, she threw the helmet to the ground and walked off without it. “We’ll be back in a few. If you need us, follow the explosions.”

Brock seemed to make some pithy remark after that, given how Lyra’s wild ranting turned on him, but they were already too far out to be heard by the time he’d done so, rendered inaudible by both sheer distance and tree density.

It took Clair a while to get used to the fact that she would be free of Lyra’s presence for the first time in several hours, but once she did she found herself relishing the feeling with all the energy and intensity of a first-time drug user. “You know,” she found herself saying while on the high of being momentarily rid of the single most annoying person she knew, “Not being able to go with the infiltration team isn’t all bad.”

Chuck stared blankly at her at that, and Misty gave her the dragon trainer a quizzical look out of the corner of her eye. “And why is that?”

“At least this way we don’t have to wear those _horrible_ uniforms.”

The two stared at her for an uncomfortably long second. Then Chuck broke down in laughter, tears appearing in his eyes as he guffawed loud enough to alert those miles away. Misty lasted a little longer, barely restraining herself from laughing openly, but before long she too was giggling like a maniac, practically unable to lift her eyes off the floor what with how deeply she’d fallen.

Clair hadn’t ever really made anyone laugh before. Snigger, yes, but laughter of this kind, full-throated and unstoppable, had always eluded her even when she had tried prompting it. After her first successful attempt, though, she could say that dragging people into fits of hysterics felt surprisingly pleasant.

“Man, Clair, I didn’t know you were such a—“ Chuck could only get so much out between laughs, but that he’d managed to go a full nine words between peals of laughter was almost certainly some kind of Herculean feat. “—comedienne!”

“To be honest, neither did I.”

“Just—Arceus, I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in minutes.” After about a solid thirty seconds of hysterics, the pair she’d murdered with proper use of comedic timing had evidently recovered enough from their wounds to resume normal conversation. “Like, whoa. Are you sure you’re still Clair under there? Did I, like, die or fall asleep or something? I mean, you’re even _smiling_. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before.”

It took a moment for Clair to realize that she was smiling, but once she did she couldn’t help but wonder how she’d missed it, question how she could have possibly mistaken that telltale raise of muscles and giant, doofy grin for something else, ask herself what, exactly, she’d thought that feeling of warmth all over her face was heralding.

Any other time, and she’d have felt sad that she’d managed to miss it. Right now, she didn’t much care.

\---

They were about five minutes into their snooping around the base’s perimeter when Misty turned to the dragon trainer abruptly and gave her her second shock to the system since they’d arrived.

“You did know that was a trap, right?”

“Uh, ah, yes? What, did you know that?” A stupid question to ask, maybe, but her mind evidently had yet to catch up to the lack of stupidity the orange-haired woman in front of her was exhibiting.

“Well, yeah, _of course_. It was kinda obvious, right? The undefended, weak-ass scouts, the clothes that fit Lyra like that… Like, I’d bet you anything that what Brock’s wearing right now was meant for Chuck. You know?”

“Wait wait wait, hold on. That was a trap?” Well, at least Chuck’s idiocy could be relied on in this turbulent, inconstant, ever-changing world. That, she supposed, was some comfort.

“I mean, yeah? What else would that have been? We’re not exactly dealing with idiots, here.” _There’s one right in front of you_ , Clair almost said, but the shock of realizing that Misty was actually slightly intelligent under all that ditziness allowed her just enough time to force the toxic words back before they came tumbling out.

Instead, she strung together a series of words more directly helpful to their cause than petty insults. “So why did you let Lyra buy it?”

“Because I know she and Brock can handle themselves, and we need a diversion. Come on,” she said, toothy grin stretching almost to her ears, “Let’s turn the tables on these punks.”

Even as she and Chuck slipped inside the base’s walls and Clair moved to join them, the dread pooling in her gut refused to be ignored.

\---

The stone temple in front of her, in her estimation, had spent more time covered by snow than it had exposed to the elements. Given where she was, though, that was hardly anything worth noting.

They’d had the sense to get going before the next storm hit, but a thick white curtain still covered the landscape, their breaths still disturbed the frozen air, and all but the most experienced members of their little party were wearing about five layers more than they were accustomed to. (Those that were used to the cold, by contrast, were wearing at least a layer less than the others wore in the most temperate of climates.) The morning sun had just deigned to break, and though it would be setting soon, the sunrise still deluded itself into thinking it heralded the beginning of a new day as opposed to the height of it, rich purples and pinks tinging the landscape and making an already scenic environment look positively gorgeous.

Any other time, and she’d be worshipping the lightness and joy it brought with it, the symbolism it offered. Right now, she found herself craving the dark.

“To be perfectly honest, we’ve never really bothered with security for this place.” The pigtailed woman in front of her bit her lip contemplatively as she spoke; frost-resistant font of knowledge though she may be, she was only human. “The whole temple’s always been perpetually falling apart, after all, and the guy downstairs gets _really_ feisty when intruders pop in. It’s going to be a pretty big adjustment.”

The woman in black sighed wistfully before she spoke, taking the time to compose her thoughts before letting them run free. She may have been something of an icon, but she too was hardly flawless. “Speaking as a member of the travelling scholar population, having to share this place with others whenever I want to poke around there certainly fits the bill.”

The girl to her left chuckled a little, but it was a dry, dead sound, something which seemed more in tune with the frozen stone than the stubbornly rising sun. “If you think that’s going to be bad, wait ‘til you see how the natives here react. I can already hear old Amani yelling at me about it.” She turned to regard her friend, black bangs shifting as she moved. “How long do you think she’ll take to get all out of her system? An hour? Two?”

“From what you’ve told me about her, I wouldn’t bet on anything lower than six.” The skittering, scratchy sounds of her right hand’s furious note-taking and the gentle whispers of the wind were the only things breaking the silence in front of the temple, in one of the most desolate places on the entire continent. (She’d heard and read, many times, about how intense the chill was here, how all-consuming it was. But whenever she came here, it was almost nothing compared to how oppressively, beautifully quiet it was.)

“You know what? You’re probably right.” The white-garbed girl’s smile was sad, but she hadn’t room to judge, not when she was mirroring the same expression. “Snowpoint’s locals aren’t exactly known for their weak wills, after all.”

“I’d say your people are as stubborn as Mudsdales, but at least Mudsdales budge when you drop bombs on their heads.” Her assistant was still furiously writing away when she looked over her shoulder, rose pen and violent hair whipping about in the soft wind. “Is that everything, Lucian?”

Lucian didn’t stop his note-taking when he was asked a question; if anything, he only started writing faster. “It should be. I do believe we’ve gone over everything there is to go over for today. I’ve just about finished with the schematic for how we’re going to go about protecting the temple, so we should be good to go.”

“You started that like eight minutes ago, right?” Something in the black-haired girl’s eyes flickered as she spoke, predatory smile gracing her features as she descended upon her blissfully unaware prey.

“Well, that was when we’d finally managed to fully map the area, so yes.” The morning sun glinted off Lucian’s glasses, rendering him even more otherworldly in appearance than he already was.

“Bet I could have gotten it done in five.” The trained eye would note here that the woman’s canines were unusually sharp for someone wishing to make an entirely fair bet.

Lucian’s eyes, as it turned out, were trained behind his presently opaque lenses. “I’m sorry, Candice, but I don’t make bets I know I won’t win.” He tore the page his diagram had been hosted on out of his notebook unceremoniously, and handed it to Candice with all the fanfare of a Galarian handling a Dark Stone.

“Ugh, not even going to give me a chance to hook you?” The woman pouted comically for a second, before straightening, her expression slipping back into one most commonly seen on people who’d torn up winning lottery tickets. “So you guys are leaving, now, right?”

Turnabout, in the blonde woman’s mind, was _definitely_ fair play. “What, sick of us so soon?”

“Wow, I’m just not catching any breaks today, am I?” Candice shook her head in faux-dismay as she spoke, before reverting back to the sad smile she’d started with. “See you soon, Cynthia.”

“One can only hope,” the champion said, as she and her makeshift assistant turned to head back down the trail they’d come from, on a collision course with the dark clouds approaching in front of them that promised a blizzard to come.

They’d almost made it back to Snowpoint proper when Lucian asked the question that had been on his mind since they’d arrived. “What’s the plan for what we do after we’re done beefing up security, by the by?”

The woman in black smiled at his words, malicious intent gleaming in her eyes. “Simple. We show Chimera the reason _why_ we’re not to be fucked with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by LonelyRollingStar.


	21. D.A.R.E. to Do Drugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a warning: If you don't like body horror, this episode has a sentence of it, but an upcoming episode is quite a bit more graphic. I'll spoiler-tag that bit, but be warned.

Minnie, for once, looked nervous. “Don’tcha understand? We’ll have Sinnoh on our backs! Have ya never heard of Barry?”

“Have you never heard of me?” Manticore grinned. “However strong they are, they’re only human. We can use Dreamy. And with something—“ Manticore gestured towards the room Flint was being held in— “that strong in my team, no one can stop me!”

“What are you going to do?” Minnie asked. “You know about Cynthia’s Garchomp... Barry’s Empoleon... What are you going to do with a fire-type?”

“Pfft. Like that’s the issue.” Manticore spread his arms wide. “We take out Sunyshore City! Threaten the rest of the map!”

Minnie wheezed. “ _No!_ ”

“Um, Manticore...?” Griffon murmured.

“Yeah, R?”

At this point, Minnie wasn’t going to correct him.

“I’m sure you have a point, but destroying cities tends to get international attention. On that scale...” Griffon was suddenly quite timid. “I agree with Minnie. I propose—“ she brightened up again. “A com-promise!”

“Why do you pronounce it like that?” Silver growled.

“Don’t immediately destroy any cities. Just tell them that if they come closer, we’ll break one. And secondly, why Sunyshore?”

Manticore shrugged. “It’s near Sinnoh’s League.”

“Try something here in Johto. Less people, and the international audience tends to ignore it. Attacking Sinnoh gets a lot more attention, and anyway, Cynthia has been known to care about protecting cities regardless of whether they’re hers or not.” Griffon finished.

Manticore gestured to Griffon, eager to acknowledge that there was some logical way to go about this. “See? We can manage Flint! Come on!”

Minnie didn’t entirely agree, but the admins tended to abide by Griffon’s logic when she offered it. “I swear, Manticore... Fine. Ya have to come up with the design, though, and do it fast. We can’t afford to wait like we have been anymore.”

Griffon’s expression changed. “Oh! Whoops, I have to go. I need to check in on the surgery...”

“Stupid Bai Longma,” Silver grumbled.

Griffon chuckled nervously. “One sec.” She bounced over to the door of the holding room, threw open the door, and called in, “looks like we might keep you! See you soon!” Then dashed off to the lab.

It was down a long, dimly-lit hallway— one of the lights flickered near the end, and Griffon could never bring herself to make anyone else fix it. Imperfections like these were so endearing!

Griffon turned left into a smaller space with masks, gloves, clothing shields in boxes, and high-power sinks. She washed her hands thoroughly, put on a mask, washed her hands again, and then put on gloves and a clothing shield before going back the way she came. She passed through two doorways— the first was made of those weird plastic strips, and the second, separated by a uv-lit room, had an automatic sliding door. Convenient!

It was freezing cold inside— Griffon appreciated it, looking over the hunched group of grunts in the room.

Griffon pushed a button, allowing a light near the surgeons to slowly turn on, alerting them to her presence without surprising them.

“Hi,” she said as one turned around to face her. “How’s it going?”

The bloodied scalpel they held caught some of the light. “About halfway done. We’re sealing up the right _gravibus saelo_.”

“Ok.” Griffon kept her distance. If she got any closer, she might be tempted to take over the surgery, and she had other things to do right now. “Be careful with that— Bai Longma wants her done as soon as possible, and we’ve got a time squeeze now, anyway. You know not to make mistakes, but there’s no harm in a reminder.” Griffon smiled.

The grunt, in a modified version of the attire to suit the science division, nodded and returned to work.

“Bai Longma says you have 3 hours,” Griffon added before leaving, hearing panic set into the grunts behind her. “She’d better be conscious in four. Sorry I can’t help!”

* * *

The building was much larger on the inside.

The small, unassuming building wedged between the trees was obviously not their main base— it was always likely that there would be more to it underground, but not _this_ much more. Lyra was surprised.

There hadn’t seemed to be many scouts outside— the first two were easy to find and corner, yes, but despite the sounds of woodland bumbling in the distance, Lyra and Brock hadn’t run into any more grunts.

While Brock was more experienced and more level-headed, Lyra’s intuition for villainy was uncanny.

“This way,” Lyra led them past the first staircase they saw, pushing a chair to the side to reveal a second staircase.

Had to be one to know one.

They descended the hidden staircase, which dropped them into a white hallway which stretched off in both directions, turning so that they couldn’t see where each one led.

“Okay. They say you should always go left!”

“Lyra, Golem can—“

“So that’s why we should go to the right,” Lyra tapped the side of her head, as if it were her big-brain time.

Brock sighed. “Lyra, there’s a better way to—“

“Nope! Your plan is probably stupid,” Lyra dismissed him. “You’re just a gym leader. _I’ve_ broken into evil bases before.”

Brock took a deep breath to avoid showing any emotion. He saw why Morty and Clair had mentioned wanting to strangle her.

Multiple times.

Lyra took the lead.

They made their way down and through branching hallways and suspiciously identical rooms, battling grunts as they came across them.

While Brock tried to keep them on track, Lyra’s inability to contain herself when she thought a hallway might be “the one” quickly got them throughly lost.

They found another dead end, Lyra entering the room with almost no caution.

“Hey! Looking for something?”

Lyra turned around to face the falsetto. “What, you looking for a—“ Whoever Lyra saw, they were dressed differently. That wasn’t grunt attire. “...fight?”

“Sure,” He blocked the doorway. “I challenge you!” He grinned, holding a pokéball in either hand. “Win and I’ll let you go. Lose, and, well...” He cackled. “You know.”

Lyra stepped up, eager to fight.

“Admin. He’s just trying to stall for time,” Brock warned her.

“If you fight with me, it’ll go faster. I won’t have to order around two Pokémon,” Lyra replied.

“It’s a trap. They’ll be preparing for the rest of us while you’re stuck here,” Brock shook his head.

“You don’t think it’s a little strange that he came when we were already lost?” Lyra smiled. “What’s your name?”

The admin didn’t reply, but instead leaned back a little, confident.

“I know this guy’s face. Look at him. He’s not here to stop us. He’s here because he’s bored. Aren’t you?”

“Who _wouldn’t_ be without a challenge?” The admin answered.

Lyra pulled out a pokéball. “So, who cares if it’s a trap? At least if I die here, I won’t have to be responsible anymore.”

The admin laughed. “Good response~!”

Brock gritted his teeth. “Fine. Ramparados!”

Lyra sent out her own. “Flappy Bird! Let’s go!”

Flappy let out a roar once it was out of the pokéball, obviously eager to fight. It exchanged a look with Ramparados, and the rock-type nodded.

The admin tossed two pokéballs, and in twin bursts of light a duo of strange concoctions appeared in the room.

On the right was a creature resembling a Togetic, but with Buizel’s features, addressed as “Spot”; its left-side counterpart was a cross between a Hydreigon and a Goldeen, from the looks of it. The latter’s name was apparently “Ribbons.”

Flappy was the first to move.

“Flappy! Fly!”

If Brock was gonna set up, Lyra might as well give him time to do it. She’d seen his strategy.

Flappy darted out of the way just in time for a swift ice beam from Ribbons.

“Target the Ramparados!” The admin called, making eye contact with the Buizel hybrid.

Spot launched at Ramparados, encasing itself in water for an aqua jet. Ramparados shuddered at getting wet as the hybrid ricocheted off its side.

“Rock polish!” Brock knew that Ramparados was often betrayed by its base speed.

The dinosaur’s blue plating began to glow, smoothing, and when it lashed its tail again, it moved with much more grace and swiftness.

“Avalanche!”

Pointed boulders of ice erupted from the floor, and Ramparados knocked them in a flurry towards Ribbons. The dragon-type cried out, obviously hard-hit by the supereffective attack.

Flappy reappeared next, raking Spot with its talons, grabbing it and forcing it down.

Spot hit the floor with a thud, registered its next command, and suddenly lit up, momentarily blinding Flappy Bird with its dazzling gleam. Flappy shut its eyes for scarcely half a second, but as it reopened them, Spot was already gone, backing up Ribbons as it launched another ice beam at Flappy. The bird wasn’t fast enough to dodge, and Lyra visibly winced as it screeched its final cry, crumpling to the linoleum.

It seemed like Lyra did have some sort of a conscience, Brock noticed. It wasn’t time to think about Lyra’s personality, though. It was time to fight.

* * *

Flint glanced around. From the sound of it, everyone had gone about their separate ways.

After Griffon left, Minnie had (quite abrasively) injected him with some other liquid, refusing to put a band-aid on the wound even when he asked for it. Since then, he’d felt sort of weak, and his vision had been sort of blurry. Based on experience, his guess was Benzo? Made sense— it stopped the formation of long-term memories in high dosages. Blackout drugs were nothing new, and he saw how they could benefit from him not remembering any of this.

Manticore seemed to have wanted to wait for the intruders they expected to show up soon, so he left. Wherever Minnie went, Flint thought it was to keep watch, if they knew people were coming for Jasmine and himself.

Flint smiled dryly to himself. Of course this would happen in Johto. If this were Sinnoh, Cynthia would have already been here...

Well, it couldn’t _not_ be Johto. Smart criminal groups choose regions like this one.

Flint glanced down at the ropes binding him. They looked stiff... When he pulled, they didn’t budge. That was okay with him.

Those ropes were never any match for teeth, anyway.

Flint chewed through the rope, waiting until it looked just about to break before pushing on it with his shoulder to snap it. Dangit, there were several separate ropes, so just that wouldn’t be enough. As quickly as he could, he gnawed through the rest of the critical ropes, using his wrists to feel which ones didn’t loosen. Finally, he snapped the last one, causing the entire set to go just limp enough for him to wriggle out. The chair fell over when he was about halfway through extracting himself, clattering and nearly smashing Flint’s head into the floor if not for his speedy reaction time. Shoot. They _had_ to have heard that.

Flint kicked at the rope, scrambling out of it and to his feet. He could see someone standing in the doorway. Sort of.

“Yo! You’re Minnie, right?” Flint asked, aware that his words were on the brink of slurring. “Sorry, I can’t really tell. You’re sort of...” Not bleary, something else. Similar. “Not straight. Sharp. You know what I mean, don’tcha?”

“Ya really did chew through all those ropes, didn’t ya?” Minnie sighed. “All right, sit tight. I’ll call Bai Longma to bring something more substantial...”

“Nope!” Flint took off towards Minnie, feinting you the left before ducking under her and rolling to get to his feet behind her. “Gotta go! Hey, you’re sorta cute, but I’m more into guys, so...” Flint gave her a wave, not ignoring the red hue that her face took on. Good— it worked. He took off while she was dazed.

“Wh-wha?” Minnie shook her head. “Wait!” She reached for a pokéball, brandishing it. “Not so fast! Go, Scorpy!”

Flint didn’t look back, scrambling towards the elevator. If he could get into it and close the door, he’d have a head start in escaping, and could hide. He was glad, at least, that it was practically a straight shot from his cell, and that it made so much noise when it was used. If not for the audio clues, he probably wouldn’t have been able to find it. Jumping aside to avoid a signal beam, he slammed his non-bruised shoulder into the wall near the door, hoping he would hit the button.

Covering so much surface area with a body slam was actually useful. With these effects in particular, experience _was_ helping him manage.

The doors slid open, and Flint squeezed through as they were halfway through their voyage to the fringes of the door.

As fast as he could, he moved his face closer to the buttons so he could read the pictographs, and slammed his hand into the button for closing the door, as well as a couple others that looked like they went places.

Gamer logic, he wordlessly joked to himself: press the button harder to make it go faster.

To his relief, the doors slid shut pretty quickly, separating him from Minnie and her monster. The elevator was up and moving, and there was no way she could get to him without destroying the base.

Flint allowed himself one calming breath before he delved back into the game plan. He had to keep thinking, or the anxiety would set in.

Oh, this drug did some weird stuff to you. Briefly, Flint shuddered at a memory of wandering down that alleyway, the dim sunlight flashing vibrantly over his shaking hands, feeling his sins crawl up his arms as every single trash bag seemed to watch him with expectant, disappointed eyes.

Flint noticed that the elevator was starting to melt together, and slapped his cheeks to keep himself in reality. He’d be covered in those damn patches for weeks after this.

He shook his head. Stop thinking about the future! Think about the present. Think! Benzos made your memory stop. It wouldn’t be long before he forgot what was going on. He needed to do it...

Flint took a deep breath to steady himself. No, it was fine. He’d done this before... No need to be hesitant.

Flint bit down on his wrist until his mouth was filled with the metallic tang of blood.

“Yow!” He shook his left arm, wincing. The drug made it hurt less, but it still stung. He knew that was the point, but still... No matter what was going on, he knew— if his left wrist had a bite mark, he was in danger. If it was bleeding, it was worse. This would remind him not to go back down there, since there was...

Shoot. The thought was already gone. He couldn’t remember what he was running from, but based on what he felt, and how hard he’d bitten his hand, it must have been bad. Based on the last thing he _could_ remember, probably an admin.

He was missing something. Something really important. He just had that feeling.

He reached into his pocket with his non-bloodied hand to ask Infernape when he realized none of his Pokémon were on him.

Shit. They had his team! He couldn’t leave them there... Ugh. He’d be no use to them sky-high and without a means to fight... His body already felt numb, and he could tell he was close to passing out. He needed backup, and probably time to clear his head.

What if they...? Terrible images, possibilities of unspeakable horrors done to Flint’s team flickered across his fuzzy mind. No. They couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let—

Stop! _Stop thinking about that!_ You have to get out of here to get backup!

Flint leaned against the back of the elevator, pressing his hand into his forehead to feel as if he were doing _something_. The headache was nearly unbearable.

Back to productive thoughts. Productive... His mind started to wander again, and he had to stop himself. He had almost forgotten how difficult it was to think with drugs. Almost.

As soon as the elevator stopped, he had to get to cover. The elevator couldn’t be the only way out. Fire code mandated— wait! Johto didn’t have a fire code!

Ughhhhh... He’d have to talk to— whatever her name was about that.

His whole body suddenly felt very light, and he took another breath to prepare himself. There was a ding that he barely heard, and as the doors slid open, he sprinted out, glancing around. There was someone there, but his back was turned. Heart racing, Flint picked a random hallway and sprinted down it, ducking into a room and training his ears on the movements of whoever that was. Don’t let the anxiety get to you. Stop imagining.

Wait, now that he thought about it, he recognized that guy. It was Manticore!

He knew he wouldn’t have that information for long, but as long as he focused on— what was it? Oh, listening— he’d be fine. Listen. Make sure he’s not close. Listen. Listen.

Flint repeated that word over and over in his head, mouthing it in the hopes that he could hold onto it for just a bit longer.

Hearing the sound moving away, he started moving again. He had to find the way out. He couldn’t just stay here— time was running out.

He could feel the drugs starting to take full effect— it took a few minutes for them all to metabolize, and those few minutes were almost up.

* * *

“Ramparados! Are you okay?” Brock asked, watching his Pokémon shudder after the attack. It seemed to be on its last legs.

Lyra’s Pokemon were even less equipped for a battle like this. They hadn’t fought in awhile, and they were rusty, so she’d burned through not only Flappy, but Grasshole, her Meganium.

“Dickcheese!” A Dragonite appeared on the scene. “I choose you!”

This Dragonite in particular happened to hate its name.

“Dickcheese, use frustration!”

That Dragonite wiped out Spot in an instant, snarling at Lyra.

The battle continued, but Brock saw a shadow approaching from outside the room, behind the admin.

Brock prepared for the worst— backup from Team Chimera— but instead, Lyra and Brock were greeted with a bouncy red Afro, the face underneath looking unusually self-conscious and fatigued.

“Yo! Good to see some friendly faces ‘round here!” Flint’s Sinnoese accent was back in full force, making him nearly impossible to understand. His words were clearly slurring. “Lyra! Brock! ‘Ow you doin’?”

Brock and Lyra both froze for different reasons.

Lyra was trying to parse what he said and come up with an appropriate insult. Eventually, she came up with, “Back from the hood?”

“Flint?” Brock was more pragmatic. “Where’s Jasmine?”

“Oh, you know, she’s...” Flint blanked out. “Shid, I don’t know... Everything’s a little...” He motioned wildly with his hands, looking a little stupid while he did so. “I think they gave me Benzodizanepide... Memory’s real foggy.”

No words came out of his mouth unscathed.

“Think Min... might have...” from his expression, they could tell that Flint was thinking just fine, sort of, but his ability to exist was compromised. “Big dose...”

The fight had pretty much stopped at this point. Even Manticore seemed a little surprised.

Flint staggered into the room. “Magm... Mag...” He thought it out first, then in as quick a burst he could manage, forced out, “Help find Pokémon team downstairs...!” Before sort of crumpling sideways, barely conscious.

Lyra and Brock exchanged a glance.

At least Brock knew what he was supposed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry we've been missing Wednesday uploads left and right! Some stuff changed, so we're both a lot more busy than we were before. : \  
> The story is pretty action-packed after Ep.19, so stay tuned even if we are a little inconsistent with uploads!
> 
> Chapter by ClariseTG.


	22. Too Much/Just Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erika is not taking a moment to introspect. She doesn't have the time to.

_Erika had never seen a table that wasn’t obscenely well-maintained before, much less one that had spent more than six months liberated from a store without being converted into spare parts. It was only natural, then, that the first question that entered her mind upon entering the room would be why the legs of the rotting wooden one before her had such unusually green spots on it._

_Somewhat less natural was the fact that she never bothered to ask anyone said question._

\---

If nothing else, a postulation that was becoming increasingly likely nowadays, Erika could at least rest easy in the knowledge that she knew the difference between crimes of opportunity and crimes more carefully planned.

Planned crimes generally had at least some forethought put into them, for one thing. A planned crime would generally be something like a bank robbery or a kidnapping, something where the details of such and the aftermath would have to be plotted out beforehand should the criminals performing such acts have even a lick of common sense. Team Chimera’s actions were planned crimes. So were whatever felonies she and Sabrina had unwittingly committed as they went to wake Pryce up, though she imagined such would get covered up rather quickly.

Erika _could_ give crimes of opportunity the same sort of dictionary definition she’d just given the other category, or she could just sum it up by saying that whatever they were doing now was a textbook example.

They hadn’t so much as discussed what they were going to do after the requisite period of slack-jawed staring at Pryce’s dining table had passed so much as they had _done_ it, piling into Erika’s unforgivably utilitarian hatchback with such a devastating lack of higher brain function that even zombies would be driven to question their intelligence. Sabrina sat in the passenger seat, eyes staring blankly forward in what could be uncharitably described as a trance, posture slouched and knees pulled against her torso. (Were the soles of her boots at all unclean, Erika would likely have counseled against such courses of action. But Sabrina had never been dirty a day in her life, and it was so very hard to say no to her.) Pryce was stuck in the back seats, doubtless still recovering from the little draught of poison she’d given him, forced unenviably to attempt to both regain consciousness and outlast the faint echoes of a potion meant originally for killing adult Kangaskhan, albeit in larger doses.

Erika drove. Maybe she was taking on a little too much, maybe she could use a break about as much as the old man with the migraine in the backseat, but it _was_ her car, and as terrible an investment as it had proven itself to be she still felt no small amount of sentimentality towards it.

\---

_The arrival of the man was heralded by an action entirely contradictory to his job description; he came in through the door._

_Brown mixed with silver assembled itself into a ragged mess of what Erika could only assume was hair on the top of his head and down the sides and back, a deep, navy blue coat over a similarly dark purple shirt and pair of jeans making it clear that he was a creature more suited to function than form. The girl couldn’t catch sight of his footwear, eye level with the table as she was, but the sound of footfalls she’d long since memorized, and it combined with the casual winter clothing was enough for her to make the assumption that he was wearing a pair of boots._

_Clothes not suited for a ninja, probably, but then, it wasn’t as if he was on the job at the moment._

\---

Some days, Erika felt as if all the world’s misery was concentrated in classical music.

Bach floated gently over the car’s speakers as they left the winding mountain road they’d started from, forming a tableau that would likely have combined with the scenery to produce a truly rapturous effect were it not for the fact that Erika had heard this particular song hundreds of times. To be perfectly frank, she was getting quite sick of it, which given her never much liking Bach in the first place was a most impressive feat.

“It took every ounce of willpower I had” had never been a particularly accurate phrase whenever Erika said it, but the effort required to keep herself from seizing control of the radio and turning the knob until she got to a station more befitting her current mood and taste in music certainly took a few drams.

They’d gone almost the entirety of Mahogany Town’s length before hitting a red light, an achievement somewhat undermined by the fact that there was only one of them in the town. The driver next to them, a trucker from Kanto sitting square in the center of a bright red tractor with a shipping container emblazoned _Wake’s Flakes_ attached to it, had rolled his window down, and brutal industrial metal was playing from it. It was almost more like white noise, really. She was sure there was a drumbeat, but the existence of other instruments couldn’t be conclusively proven.

If not for her toe’s tapping rhythmically to the beat of the frenetic drums, she probably wouldn’t have been sure of the drumbeat, either.

Sabrina had never read her mind, and at times that felt painfully obvious but on the whole Erika could say that the girl to her right didn’t really need to. One look at her foot’s open defiance of the quiet, angelic piece echoing in her car with all the force and bravado of a choir of angels stuffed in the trunk and left for dead, and she had her current object of desire figured out.

She looked her in the eyes, and nodded her head as if to give permission. And when the scowling old man in the back seat didn’t raise any complaints, Erika finally let her hand run to the knob and change the station for good.

It was hardly as if she needed to maintain her mask here, after all. Sometimes, it was good to let go.

\---

_He sat in the seat he’d been directed to sit in, and did so with a lack of reluctance that boggled the girl who’d spent the better part of the past half-hour wondering how anything could get so rickety as the furniture in front of her._

_He’d been late to the queue the day smiles were being handed out, by the looks of it. His face was set in a near-perpetual frown, and his eyes held that same hardened gaze her parents had told her to be wary of countless times._ _Dressed in street clothes he may have been, yes, but he had the laid-back poise and confidence of someone who felt they could take down everyone in the room in so little time that their victims wouldn’t even get the chance to start screaming._

_Were she a more normal child, she’d have called him delusional. The very concept of her parents ever being beaten in a fight, to a five-year-old Erika, was downright absurd._

\---

To say it was as they’d feared would be to imply that there was still something left at the estate to be afraid of.

Pryce’s first impression of the situation was hardly flattering. “Looks like someone dropped a car battery on it,” he said, dryly, even as he fumbled for his cane while also exiting the car still under the illusion that he was capable of doing both at once while his head felt like it had been caught in the path of a jackhammer. Sabrina couldn’t offer any such insight into the situation because she’d never actually been to Jasmine’s house.

Erika hadn’t either, though that was more due to the tensions between old money and new than anything else.

Whitney was waiting for them when they arrived, reclined on the side of one of the walls, looking for all the world like a six-year-old recently informed of their beloved dog’s passing via gunshot wound. Her eyes briefly flickered with hope upon Pryce’s leaving the car, then filled with despair upon Erika and Sabrina’s exit. The grass trainer hardly felt at all offended at her being perceived so negatively: to the darling of Goldenrod City, she probably more closely resembled a bitter rival than a fellow trainer. (Not to say she didn’t still take umbrage at it, of course. She’d never taken too kindly to those who viewed Sabrina poorly.)

“You mind telling us what happened here?” Tact was not an attribute Pryce had ever managed to gain.

“Well,” said the girl, and she looked almost on the brink of tears, “There’s not much to talk about.”

\---

_He needed more poison, evidently. Erika, being still nothing more than a child despite her wishes to the contrary, couldn’t exactly parse much more than that, but that seemed to be the root of it. Her parents weren’t using the voice with him, the one they used whenever somebody had something they wanted, the one that felt like being given a lullaby just before bedtime, but they were coming pretty close._

_Some numbers were exchanged, ones like ‘three thousand’ and ‘five hundred’ and sometimes both, and while that confused her she didn’t let it show, because she couldn’t let it show, couldn’t break the image of the perfectly respectful child her parents had created._

_It had taken a lot of badgering to get them to agree to this, after all. She’d even had to use the voice._

\---

Koga elected to make his presence known midway through Whitney’s impromptu briefing. (The use of that phrase was intentional; he’d doubtless been watching them the whole time, cautious feet and masked breathing rendering him all but invisible before then.) Someone more well-adjusted or impatient may have done so by clearing their throat, or issuing a rebuttal. Koga, evidently not either of those things, did so by carefully creeping up to Pryce and tapping him on the shoulder.

The old man’s reaction, predictably, was rather extreme. “What the _shit—_ Oh, it’s just _you_ ,” Pryce exclaimed, swinging his cane towards the poison master at speeds fit to kill and only managing to stop himself inches away from his neck.

By the looks of it, he’d learned better than to let his guard down.

“Hm.” Koga, completely unfazed by such potential acts of malice committed against his person, tilted his head in contemplation. “And here I thought you were in a coma.”

“I got better,” the elder muttered indignantly.

“How so?”

And now even Whitney’s interest was piqued, shelving thoughts on how best to break to the trio in front of her the events that had recently happened to instead ponder more pressing issues. “Hey! _Good question!_ How _did_ you get better so quickly?”

Unfortunately for her quest for truth, the headache was only making Pryce somehow more irritable. “You think _I_ know? I was fucking unconscious when it happened. You want to know what went down, ask flower girl over here.”

And as the eyes of her peers turned on her, Erika barely allotted herself time for a pithy mental comment before she slipped the mask back on, summoning what little courage she could muster to play the part she had to—

“Erika gave him a dosage of a concoction she knows to revive the unconscious. Pryce awoke immediately afterward, and has a headache which will likely continue bothering him for a while. That is all. If you feel the need to know more, ask me about it and I will happily supply you with information. There’s no need to be nosy at present.”

It took a moment for Erika to register that it was _Sabrina’s_ usually dispassionate and monotone voice that had broken her concentration and torn her expectations into little more than ribbons, but even then she seemed to be the first in their little group to comprehend that it was her that had said that. Not that that was saying much: she’d already stormed off, slim form and long ebony hair retreating into the almost-forgotten estate.

The silence was more deafening than the diatribe ever could have been. At least, until Pryce turned toward the two currently in residence at the house and angrily asked “Alright, who pissed the psychic off?”

\---

_It had taken about an hour of standing ramrod straight on her end, but her parents had finally concluded their business. She’d been told about how long these things went on before, how damaging they were to both parties’ psyches, but second-hand chatter had nothing on actual experience, and it showed, her guardians wearier than she’d ever seen them and the ninja they were meeting with looking at his flask like it was solve all the world’s problems._

_Sometimes, it still amazed Erika how quickly her parents could snap back to legitimate calm and happiness after spending so long hiding daggers behind smiles and making veiled threats. They did so now, and it was only now, after a spending an hour in his company, that Erika learned that the man in front of her was a family friend._

_“I don’t think you’ve met our little angel before,” her father suggested with a warm smile gracing his features, and the stranger seemed receptive._

_“Can’t say that I have. If she’s half as smooth a talker as you two are, I don’t think I want to.” He spoke with venom, like a cat only able to express affection through biting. It was almost sad, in a way, and yet oddly endearing at the same time._

_Her mother broke her train of thought by turning toward her child, acknowledging her presence for what felt like the first time since the day began. “Why don’t you introduce yourself to him, Erika?”_

_She responded in perfect, practiced diction, carrying herself with all the respectability and grace she knew she had to exhibit to make the ideal impression on the man. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Willow.”_

_“Oh, please,” the stranger responded, and though he may have expressed distaste for formality earlier in the discussion he seemed almost flattered now, “Call me Pryce.”_

\---

She went after Sabrina after she left. Of course she did. The day she’d abandon her again, leave her to suffer under whatever demons she’d seeded there through her own recklessness, would be the day she’d remove herself from her life entirely.

Even with a cavernous hole in it, Jasmine’s estate was massive, reminding Erika unavoidably of the mansions she’d frequented both as a child and as an adult for formal parties. Yet it was also decidedly unlike those monuments to decadence at the same time, more lived-in and revealing of the owner’s tastes than built for the spectacle over anything else. Paintings and carpets lined the cream walls and floors, clutter was everywhere, and every room looked like it had been used at some point in the past two weeks, from the overflowing library to the dining room with an already-made table. It was as if she was gazing into a portrait of a person without ever really meeting them, her experience more like that of one scrolling through a dating website than anything else.

She’d always found it odd how easy it was to know everything about a person without ever having to see their face. Though given the lady of the house’s kidnapping, she thought darkly, perhaps that was a good thing. Odds were she’d never see this version of Jasmine again, after all.

Erika passed through at least three guest rooms (one of which contained a mute man with familiar blond hair who regarded her with all the barely-constrained emotion of an accountant on the job, and she closed the door there before she was forced into any more comfortable truths than she was perhaps ready for that day) before she found the one Sabrina had taken over. In retrospect, it was obvious which one she’d gravitate toward; the narrow walls and relatively utilitarian design made it as close a fit for her flat as anything else, and indeed when she saw the psychic’s figure sipping from a bottle of alcohol forlornly at the table in the back it took a moment to remember that she wasn’t there anymore.

“Oh, Erika. Hello.” Sabrina got the first word in, greeting Erika with a tight smile and a small nod.

“Sabrina.” Erika let herself smile back, allowing herself to forget her reason for being here for a moment before pressing her point. “You… are holding up alright, yes?” Some hostile voice in the back of her head berated herself for the pause, but she knew that here at least any hopes of appearing as smooth a talker as she always was went out the window. Talking to Sabrina always had had that effect, and now that the memory of her own betrayal of the psychic still stung she knew that her odds of being a picture of perfect eloquence were essentially nil.

But she still felt foolish when Sabrina sighed at her words. “This is about what just happened, yes?”

“I was just… surprised, I suppose. I was about to tell them the story myself, and I could have easily handled it—“

“Stop that.”

At Erika’s quirked eyebrow, Sabrina began to elaborate. “Don’t just… act like you’re someone else’s plaything, some sort of puppet on a string. I could tell you didn’t want to answer them.”

Erika took a deep breath before she spoke next. Wouldn’t do to fall apart here, after all. “Well… all the same, I still had to answer them. They were asking me a question, and it’d be rude to just… ignore it, or pass it onto somebody else.” _If we’re going to be defining it as a burden,_ she mused silently, _then it was mine and mine alone._

“I… suppose.” Sabrina’s gaze traveled down to the floor, almost seeming to bore through the table she was sitting at, before returning to Erika’s eyes with a renewed fervor. “It doesn’t have to be your burden, though. Not everything is.”

“Maybe. But if I don’t carry it, who will?”

“If you don’t let anyone else carry it, you’ll _collapse_.” Emotion tinged Sabrina’s every word now, voice shaking as she spoke, faint hyperventilation able to be heard. “You—You’ll fall apart, or worse, and I don’t want that to happen to you, I can’t _let_ that happen to you, and, and…” Slowly, carefully, she rested her forehead on the table. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 _Look what you’re doing. You’re destroying her._ “I… …well, it’s my fault, isn’t it?” At Erika’s response, Sabrina seemed to jolt to life. “Maybe I’m taking on too much, maybe I am just letting myself fall apart, but… I’ve gotten you involved.” Even as she spoke, Erika could tell that Sabrina was mouthing along to her words, silent screams of _no, no, no_ and _stop it, stop it, I’m doing this willingly, please_ unable to make it past her lips. “And I… I’m just going to drag you down with me at this rate, aren’t I? I’ll never do anything but hurt you. I’ve never… done anything but hurt you.” Tears welled in her eyes, now, with Erika only being able to choke out enough words to say “You deserve so much better” before Sabrina could reach her.

She held her, for a while, as she sobbed into her shoulder, and not for the first time Erika couldn’t help but wonder why she was so stubbornly staying by her side, why she wouldn’t let herself be pushed away, why she had to subject herself to the torment of being around her.

After a few minutes, she found the strength to whisper into her ear. “If you are dragging me down,” she said, “and I can’t save you, then I’d want nothing more than to fall with you.”

What Erika couldn’t figure out was why.

\---

_It took Erika a minute to reconcile the realities of her life to that point with the realities suggested by the text message on her phone._

_She had heard that Sabrina was making an attempt to be more social, of course. She couldn’t say she knew the psychic well, but she knew of her, and she knew enough to know that not only was she painfully distant from others but also aware that that was a flaw of hers. That she’d try to reach out to someone eventually was all but guaranteed._

_What Erika couldn’t figure out was why she had decided on her._

_Any other day, and she would have dismissed her out of hand. Sabrina was asking to head to a bar, after all, and a lady and a gym leader of her lineage couldn’t be caught dead there without facing some sort of social repercussion. Erika would be yelled at by her mother if she was sighted there, at least, and disinherited at worst, her image built over years ruined in a day._

_But then she felt the kimono that had wrapped itself so delicately around her start to chafe, and was forced to acknowledge that if she wanted to have a chance in hell of living to, oh, any number higher than 30, she’d have to take a break some time. The role she was playing had never been among her favorites anyways, and she hadn’t had any good alcohol in a year and was getting desperate for so much as a drop of liquor._

_And besides, she thought as she typed out an uncharacteristically sloppy reply, she was rather curious as to what made Sabrina tick._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by LonelyRollingStar.


End file.
